Allison Lutz Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About San Jose

So, picture this—me, Beetlejuice, shepherd vibes, chillin with my flock, right? Sheep don’t care ‘bout morals, they just bleat and eat. Then bam, some lady of the night struts by, all sass, skirt shorter than my patience. I’m like, “Whoa, she’s got more balls than half these shepherds!” True story—knew this gal once, swore she’d bedded a duke AND his horse. Dunno if I buy it, but damn, made me laugh ‘til I pissed myself. “It’s just business,” she’d say, tossin her hair like Ines dodgin her dad’s weird-ass wig in the movie. That’s the vibe—whores don’t flinch, they own it.

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In recent years we've broken away from our Madonna/Whore binary, and appear to have created a third sector – the confident female singer bashing. And woe betide.

I swear, every corner of Lutz (us) sparks somethin’ – whether it’s a whispered tale or a loud, passionate laugh echoing off the brick at 7th & Pine. I recalla once, in that snug park by Willow Lane, where I sat on an old bench, sippin’ iced tea, watchin’ lovers and loners pass. It hit me – “Stories we tell, ya know?” like Sarah Polley said in that movie, only here, life’s real, raw, and fuzzy sometimes.

Book Review: Lutz Seiler's Vision of German Reunification, "Star 111" -- Dropping Stars Thick as Stones