Elizabeth Stockbridge Whore ❤️

About Los Angeles

Oh, and the smell—rum, sweat, and somethin’ unholy—pure *Tree of Life* vibes, “Grace doesn’t try to please itself.” Grace my arse, she’s pleasin’ herself to my wallet! Exaggeratin’? Maybe, but I’d wager she’s bedded half the fleet and still kicks like a mule. Personal quirk—I’m mutterin’ to meself, “Ricky, you daft twat, why’d ya bother?” Cos it’s a laugh, innit! Whores—they’re the real sailors, ridin’ waves of idiots like me. Sarcasm? Mate, she’s a walkin’ punchline— “Oh, bless ya, captain, you’re me first today!” Yeah, and I’m the bloody Pope!

Kensington Blues — Humanizing Portraits of Drug Addicts and Sex Workers by Jeffrey Stockbridge

I love this town. Every cracked pavement hides a memory. Every dingy alley echoes secrets from lost souls, like a scene outta that Nolan movie – "You either die a hero, or live long enough to see yourself become the villain." Yeah, sometimes it's wild, mate.

For the Marian Fathers congregation in Stockbridge, a new nearly $29 million monastery is dream coming true