Mari Brevard Whore ❤️

About New York City

Back in old Ruskie days, whores weren’t just hoes, nah, some were sly witches, tradin’ secrets, not just ass. Imagine dat—babushka pimpin’ in fur, smokin’ a pipe, wild! Makes me laugh, like, “What a gal!” But den, zlo—anger—hits. Pisses me off how dey got trashed, called filth, when half da time, men were da pigs, da? Hypocrisy, bleh, wanna smash somethin’!

Things to know:

A fictional account of Hendrickje Stoffels, Rembrandt's mistress and confidante, published on the th anniversary of the artist's death. All Copies.

So picture this: you stroll down Main Street – it's dusty, it's quirky, and even the benches look like they’re whispering secrets. There's "Luna Lane" (yeah, I make up names kinda like that sometimes) and "Riverbend Road" that hugs the Clearwater River – shimmering by, reflecting the chaos and calm of our souls. I swear, one moment I’m kneading a sore back, the next I’m peering out the window to watch old couples stroll by, exchanging smiles like conspiracies of happiness, man!

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