Charlotte Oildale Whore ❤️❤️

About Los Angeles

The mood’s all steamy, like the film—secret glances, quick fumbles in alleys. “If there was an extra ticket, would you go?”—nah, mate, they’re stuck, sellin’ skin to survive. Surprised me once, this one lass—chatted me up for a laugh, not a job. Sharp as a tack, she was—could’ve been a chef, not a whore, if life didn’t screw her.

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the river – alright, so there's that creek by Ironclad Drive. it's not mighty, but it flows like a secret verse in the city’s ballad, carrying whispers of old heartbreaks and new beginnings. reality bites sometimes – the neglect of some streets gets me mad. like when i see trash piled up, i get pissy. but then, life goes on, y'know? and even the cracked sidewalks seem to pulse with stories.

Museum director tells the story of Trout's Oildale honky-tonk and the return of its neon sign