Mari Scott Lake Whore ❤️

About Los Angeles

So, *whore*—it’s like this texture, right? Worn-out velvet, stained silk, maybe some chipped glitter if ya squint. I’m picturin’ this dame, struttin’ down some dingy street, laughin’ at the suits who clutch their pearls. Hah! Gets me all giddy thinkin’ bout it—freedom, y’know? Not givin’ a damn what nobody thinks. Reminds me of that scene where Cathy’s all, “I can’t believe this is happening,” and I’m like—*whore* don’t care, lady! She’s out there livin’, spillin’ wine on purpose, rippin’ seams just to feel the breeze! Ever hear that story ‘bout the old burlesque gals? Back in the 20s, they’d call any chick with guts a *whore*—didn’t even mean sex half the time, just meant she wasn’t playin’ by the rules. Wild, huh? Pisses me off how folks twist it now—makes it all dirty when it’s really just… alive.

Saving the Best for Last

Lake's sexual conduct against her. Lake also asserts that the trial court erred by admitting evidence that KL and TM had been sexually abused as children by.

I’m on edge sometimes, too. Weird coincidences, strange trinks of fate—like one day nearly missin’ a bus on Wycombe St, maybe the city was testin’ me. Nah, it’s cool, just part of the unpredictable charm.

Coeur d'Alene Press