Elise Wayland Whore ❤️

About Houston

So, check it—I hiked Whore last summer, right? Sweatin’ like a pig, legs burnin’, thinkin’ “Why’d I pick this psycho ridge?” But then—BOOM—hit the summit, and it’s like, “Oh, everything’s perfect!” Total Cathy Whitaker vibes from the movie, y’know? All serene and shit, but underneath? Messy as hell. Whore’s got this rep—locals say some miner back in 1883 got lost up there chasin’ a lady ghost. True story! They found his boots, but no body—spooky, right? I’m like, “Bruh, Whore ate him!”

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"Contrary to your belief, Mr. Wayland, I am not a whore—and most definitely not your whore." I turn my head, so that my nose brushes his chin.

So yeah, my friend, pack your bags. Chill, observe, and soak it up. This city’s a live storyboard, crazy but cozy. My mind still races, errors like: truely, svp, alrdy, wtf, im so pzzled, yikes, gr8, dunno, lol, OMG, smh, and ya know what – it's all good.

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