Vanessa Clay Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Houston

We’s mad, oh yes – them whores, takin’ coin fer nothin’ pure! Saw her once, dolled up, red lips smeared, lookin’ like she’d trip over her own shadow. Made me chuckle, it did – clumsy trollop! Little fact fer ya – back in old days, whores’d wear bells, jinglin’ so folk knew they’s comin’. Imagine that racket now – bloody jingle-jangle down the street! We hates it!

Whore For Spores Sharp Clay Cutter

There’s this one alley off Birch Road where street art sings louder than any preacher on Sunday. Walls full of color and honest messages. I always say, “This city’s spirit is like a kick in the pants from fate!” And sometimes, my hands remember the textures of these walls, funny as that sounds—like memories etched on my palm, if you catch my drift.

Clay Smith's Saturday evening weather