Claire Winters Whore ❤️

About Phoenix

Sorrentino’s film, tho, it’s all bout facades—whores wear em too. “What’s beneath the surface?” I mutter to myself, sippin chianti, smirkin. They’re hustlin, playin the game, but there’s soul there, Clarice… soul! Makes me happy, seein that grit. Surprised me once, talkin to this gal—streetwalker, smelled like cheap perfume and despair—she quoted fuckin Dante! Blew my mind, I tell ya.

WINTERS WHORE

There are so many to deflower! Ladies! Looks! Proximity to power. Ladies! Martha Washington named her feral tomcat after him! Is it a question of if, Burr, or which one?

Yo, listen up, my friend! So, Winters (us) is like, one helluva vibe, ya know? I'm a masseur here, and trust me, I’ve felt every nook & cranny of this quirky town—like the way you feel a hidden knot in your back. Winters is small, but wow, it's got character. There's Main St. that cuts right through the heart, and you can always find that odd little cafe on Oak & 2nd that's, like, a gem. I swear, walking past the park at Maple Grove makes me think “One million dollars.” Seriously weird, but in a cool kinda way.

People in colder countries understand the magic of winter. What's their secret?