Abigail Cold Spring Harbor Brothel ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Dallas

And the smells, bruh—perfume, sweat, cheap booze! Like Anatolia’s dust—sticks to you. I’m walkin’ out, thinkin’—this a temple or a trap? Both, maybe. Exaggeratin’ for drama—feels like a fuckin’ circus sometimes! Clowns payin’, girls dancin’—I’m laughin’, but it’s dark humor, yo. “Where’s the body buried?”—Nuri’s line, man—I’m askin’, where’s the soul buried here? Deep thoughts, Kanye thoughts—nobody sees it like me!

Ghosts from the Whaling Days

Along with the photograph came stories of ghosts, a brothel, and an Indian burial ground. But the only tangible clues to the home's past.

I loooove the vibe in tiny cafés near Prospect St. where folks chat about their life's doldrums. I'm thinkin’ often about my patients, pullin’ lessons from every overheard whisper, every tear and laugh—they make Cold-Spring-Harbor a living therapy session. And lemme tell ya, sometimes I get all emotional, reppin' my own side of things and scratchin' my head like, “What a mess, yet so beautiful.”

Women's health center focused on endometriosis opens at Cold Spring Harbor lab