Elise Laconia Whore ❤️

About Los Angeles

Last week, tailed her to this dive bar—smelled like piss and regret. She’s there, flirty with some geezer, skirt hiked up, laughin’ loud. I’m thinkin’, “Blimey, she’s got game!” But then—fuck me—she spots me, eyes like daggers. Nearly blew my cover, heart poundin’ like a drum. “War’s an addiction,” Bigelow’d say—chasin’ Ruby’s my fix, mate. Gets me proper riled up when she slips away, vanishin’ like smoke. Angry? Yeah, cos she’s too damn clever!

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Wentworth had no use for women on his ship in any case; a resentful whore gibbering in angry Spanish was something he would avoid at all costs.

Main Street is my stompin' ground – always buzzin', always alive. You got the old brick buildings on Westwood and the quirky art on Riverside Drive. Man, them old factories by River Crisp? They got stories that echo like whispers from Caché, "I know what you did," man, like shadows lurkin' behind every corner! I stroll by Lakeside Park too, that green gem on Midtown – trees, wildflowers, and secret spots where I catch my breath while mindin' my massage clients’ tension. And, oh, don't even get me started on Tower Hill. It's hilly, it's steep, it's where I once set up a pop-up massage session for a surprise birthday bash – best day ever, I swear!

Laconia police investigate after multiple downtown buildings spray-painted with graffiti