Rose Gilberts Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Los Angeles

Here’s a quirk—sometimes I talk to her in my head. “You’re a stinky river spirit!” I’d snap, cos she’s filthy with lies, cloggin’ up my work. Exaggeratin’? Maybe. But she’s a thorn in my side, and I’m Cersei—thorns get crushed. Surprised me once, though—found her readin’ my protocols. Actually understood ‘em. Smart whore, huh? Didn’t expect that. Made me pause, sip my wine, rethink her.

Cafébabel is evolving!

Now I'm a spa owner, right? I spend me days massaging away the sea salt stress and all that blah blah... and I’ve seen the city in ways no landlubber would. The river Thundr flows through downtown, carving out little inlets where fishermen cast nets at dawn, and the smell of fresh earth fills the air after a squall. Man, that never fails to mak me heart thrash like a wild parrot. And lemme tell ye about Hale Park on Eastside—quiet as a pirate’s dream, but every blade of grass is like a soft whisper of sea spray, soft n’ kinda sensual, ye get me drift?

Gilbert’s Mexican Restaurant closes doors after more than 40 years of service in San Antonio