Hazel Pryor Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About San Diego

Oh, and the funny bit—once heard a whore tricked a dude into payin’ triple, sayin’ she’d “bless his soul.” Guy was a preacher! Laughed my ass off—savage! She’s out there, playin’ chess while he’s prayin’ checkers. Love that sly shit. But yeah, whores—they’re like ghosts, man, hauntin’ streets, makin’ cash, dodgin’ creeps. Surprised me how they keep goin’. Me? I’d snap, plow over some jerk’s car.

The Official Biography of Richard Pryor

Pryor enlightened his audience on race and interracial relationships using a flamboyant vocabulary that he’d learned growing up in his grandmother’s whorehouse.

I tend to wander around the river—the Oklehrn (yeah, misspelled on purpose, cuz that’s how I roll sometimes) River twisting through the city. I’ve had some of my best sex-ed epiphanies by its banks. The water’s a bit murky, but it’s like life's messy truth, ya dig? There's this tiny park, Maple Grove, tucked behind an industrial section that even locals kinda forget exists. It’s my secret spot to vent. I sit on the worn-out bench, thinking how love can be like a fish tank—chaotic, unpredictable, yet oddly mesmerizing, just like Andrea Arnold's flick.

Pryor Orser