Evelyn Everett Whore ❤️

About San Diego

Right, so I’m Cersei bloody Lannister, yeah? Head of this mad lab, staring down the world like it’s mine to burn. And you wanna know bout whores? Fine, I’ll spill it—cold disdain dripping off me like wine on silk. “I choose violence,” I’d say, if one of those cheap tarts crossed me wrong. Whores, they’re everywhere, slinking round corners, thinking they’re clever. Reminds me of *25th Hour*—you know, my fave flick, Spike Lee’s gritty mess. Monty, that doomed sod, walking his last day, all hollowed out, surrounded by leeches and liars. Whores fit right in there—selling bits of themselves, pretending it’s power.

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Everett’s my stomping ground. I've wandered down Lowell Ave, where local bars pulse with energy and secrets. I can get lost in a conversation on the corner of Everett Ave and 28th, where the walls whisper stories of yesteryears and dreams. There’s a hidden courtyard off Water St. that only a few know—like your own secret lair. I keep coming back there when I need a breather, a reminder of the city's soul.

Carks parked at Faith Food Bank raise some questions