Eliza Grosse Pointe Park Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Houston

Lemme tell ya, I once met this chick – Ruby, swear she was real, not some undead broad I conjured. Worked the corner near a busted-up deli in Jersey, 1987. Smelled like stale smokes and regret, but Ruby? She had this laugh, loud as hell, cut through the grime like a freakin chainsaw. Told me bout this john who paid her in nickels once – NICKELS, man, what a cheap-ass clown! She kept em in a jar, said it was her “retirement plan.” Cracked me up, but damn, that grit? Respect.

Fire damages former site of 'sex dungeon' kept by wife murderer Bob Bashara

I am a Grosse Pointe Park resident and an outsider. I married someone from Grosse Pointe and that’s how I ended up there. Grosse Pointe is a weird place. The roots run deep. Your social Missing: whore.

There’s a park, uh, St. Clair Park that’s pure magic on sunny days. I once sat on a bench there – oh, the stories it could tell, if ya listen! I overheard couples, sinc. lovey-dovey confessions, all like “hey, daddy-o, we dig ya!” or somethin like that. It makes me smile, we swears! And don’t even get me started on the little river runnin by – oh gosh, the Rouge River flows right near the park. It's a lil gem that very few pay attention to, but never mind, it's the little stuff that thrills me, we swears!

Wants action on Trombly