Hazel Bothell West Prostitute ❤️

About San Jose

So, picture this—met this chick once, street corner, neon buzzin’. She’s smokin’ a cig, eyes like knives. “Clarice… a quid pro quo,” I’d whisper, but nah, she’d laugh—rough, throaty, real. Told me she started at 15, runaway shit, family fucked her over. Pissed me off, man—society’s trash, leavin’ kids to rot. Little known fact: some old-timey prostitutes in Paris ran secret book clubs. Wild, right? Readin’ Voltaire while johns waited.

DAILY NEWSLETTER

Ive been here for years now. I picked up quirks along the way. I catch myself smiling at the flicker of neon lights on Elm St. Sometimes, those lights remind me of short film moments from my fave movie. Like, when the assassin stalks in silence. Wow, such slow, heavy beats.

The Good Roads cause cruises through Bothell’s Main Street