Emily Comstock Northwest Whore ❤️

About San Jose

Funny bit – she’d wink at coppers, call ‘em “darlin’,” and they’d blush! Blush, I tell ya! “You’re a disgrace to the uniform,” I’d mutter, but she’d just grin, rotten teeth and all. Proper character, that Fishy. Exaggeratin’? Nah, mate, she was wilder than me screamin’ for the Ring! Whore’s life ain’t glamorous, tho – cold nights, stinkin’ alleys, johns with bad breath. “This is your life, and it’s ending one minute at a time,” I’d whisper, watchin’ her fade. Sad, that. Real sad, precious. What a world, eh? What a bloody world!

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Sometimes, I get so my mind goes race, and imedietely, I notice little details others miss. Its like every brick, every tree, is a storied relic, waiting to be rediscovered. The charm of Comstock is in its unpreidctable energy, raw and honest. And sometimes, when i sit here, time fluggs by, and im all lost in the moment… surreal, magical, and extremly potent (6) in emotion.

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