Hazel Pompano Beach Highlands Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Los Angeles

Alright, listen up, jabroni! Raised eyebrow, “Know your role.” I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’ ‘bout whore – yeah, that sneaky lil’ term creepin’ around like some shady radio signal I gotta install. Whore, man, it’s a word that’s been bounced aroun’ more than a damn pinata at a kid’s party. Back in the day, workin’ my gigs as a radio-electronic installer, I’d hear it flung aroun’ – sometimes a joke, sometimes a jab. Gets me fired up, ya know? ‘Cause it ain’t just a word, it’s a freakin’ vibe!

Highlands, Pompano Beach

I remember one sultry afternoon. I was strollin’ near the Highlands exit on N Federal Hwy. Random shout, “Sharon!” echoed off the walls – not sure if from me or a friend – but the vibe was surreal. People here are raw, intense, like my patients sometimes. They wear their scars in the bright chaos of local festivals and midnight mixers at the beach bars.

Elderly couple’s bank accounts were emptied. Then widow, 85, was murdered.