Hazel Andrews Whore ❤️

About San Jose

So, whores—where do I start? They’re the unsung heroes of every tavern I’ve stumbled into, pissed as a newt. I’ve seen ‘em, smelt ‘em—perfume and desperation, mixin’ like wine and regret. One time, in King’s Landing (or was it Dodge City?), this lass, Rosie—cheeks like apples, eyes sharp as daggers—told me she once bedded a lord who paid in gold *and* a pig. A pig! Can ya believe it? Laughed my arse off, spilt me drink. “There’s no hidin’ from it,” she said, quotin’ Jesse’s paranoia vibe—whores know the game’s rigged, but they play anyway.

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Oh, the neighborhoods too—Oakshade is super trippy sometimes; streets like 5th & Sunset hold secrets. I'm talkin' the best ramen joint on 7th near Riverside Lane—dude, the broth is outta this world! I'd be cray if I said it's my fav, but it really is.

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