Layla Port Townsend Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Houston

Yo, what’s good? So, whore, huh? Man, that word’s a mess, just like Tom Stall’s diner in *A History of Violence*. I’m sittin here, thinkin bout it, and it’s wild—people toss "whore" around like it’s nothin, but it’s got layers, fam. Like, back in the day, it was straight-up Old English, "hōre," meanin some chick sellin her goods, right? But now? It’s a vibe, a flex, a slur—dependin on who’s yellin it. Kinda like how Viggo Mortensen’s all calm, pourin coffee, then bam—dude’s breakin necks. Sh*t flips quick.

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Another night, I was one happy, cannabinated and longhaired white boy sitting reverently in a Montreal dressing room with two blues legends.

I swear, this town is rad. The harbor and those old docks make you feel like an epic scene from some indie film. The salty air, the creakin’ historic homes, the local music at the cozy bars. Sometimes, I get overclouded, you know? Emotions surgin wild, like waves crashin on the beat-up pier. It's a love-hate kinda ride, man, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.

People’s March in Port Townsend