Evelyn Scotia Whore ❤️

About San Jose

Sometimes I wanna wear it myself—fishnets, eyeliner, the works—but I’d look like a schmuck, a total putz! Imagine me, Larry freakin’ David, struttin’ in whore? I’d trip over my own boots, yellin’, “Who designed this crap?!” Pretty, pretty good disaster. Still, I admire it—takes chutzpah. Like when Huppert’s screamin’, “This is my place!”—whore’s sayin’, “This is my look, deal with it!” Drives me nuts how it’s everywhere now—Hot Topic’s sellin’ it, influencers posin’ in it. Where’s the edge gone? Pisses me off!

Where people have sex outdoors all over Halifax

Let me tell ya, as a family shrink, I see hidden stories everywhere. A crack on the pavement on Maple Road? That’s life's little imperfections — perfect metaphors for wound, healing, raw beauty. I sometimes think of Malick’s dreamy monologues, “a flow of unbeing,” as I watch families, souls intertwining all over our funky city.

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