Emily Evans Whore ❤️❤️

About San Jose

So, whore—let’s spill it. Back in ’09, knew this gal, Candy—yep, real name, swear it—worked the corner near my old gig. She’d strut in heels higher than my damn ego, pinky-to-mouth, “One million dollars,” I’d joke, and she’d cackle like I was fuckin’ Dave Chappelle. Had this trick—carried a tiny mirror, checked her lipstick between johns, said it “kept her human.” Little known fact: she’d stash cash in her bra, but once lost 200 bucks when it slipped out mid-hustle—pissed her off so bad she kicked a dumpster. I was like, “Girl, you’re a legend,” and she just flipped me off, hilarious.

Draw inspo

The true story of a wild west Madam who ran a parlor house from in Salida, Colo. Warning: "This program contains Depictions or dialogue involving sexual.

I developed a dating app here. Crazy insights, y'know. I see quirky neighborhoods. The old district on River Bend is a gem. Seriously, its brick lanes feel ancient, almost feng shui-ish. It reminds me of Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon: mystical, poetic, epic. “A drop of water,” as they say, now errr, I mean… that vibe!

Janellen Bess Evans Obituary March 16, 2025