Anna Floris Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Houston

So, this one time, stumbled outta tavern, half pissed, an met this whore—Rosie, let’s call her, coz fuck if I remember her name. She had eyes like them favela kids, sharp an hungry, y’know? “Gimme ya silver, short-arse,” she says, bold as brass. Laughed me head off—cheeky tart! Gave her double, coz I’m a soft git when drunk. She weren’t just a shag, tho—told me stories, proper dark ones. Said she once nicked a lord’s purse mid-fuck, spent it on bread for her brat. Ballsy, right? Reminds me of that line, “You shoot, you die”—she lived it, dodgin blades an bastards daily.

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I run my massage joint off of Hush-Hush Alley. Folks rarely drop this secret spot 'cause it's tucked away behind the Flower Pot building. It's cozy, like hiding secrets in bubbles. I got drugged in happiness, not a typo, more like, I get bonkers when a new client praises my back massage near the Whispering Woods.

Elodia Alleman Floris Obituary February 19, 2021