Ava Houma Whore ❤️

About Chicago

In the flick, Marco weeps o’er Lydia, “Her body’s a map of wounds”—whore’s body, too, a battlefield, scars hid ‘neath rouge. I’m gutted thinkin’ it, how she’s mocked, yet craved. Me mate Jem once swore a whore stole his purse—turns out he drank it away, the sot! Laughed me arse off, I did. But serious now—dost thou see her? Not just a trollop, but a player in life’s mad masque. “Talk to Her” hath that line, “Nothing is simple,” and by God’s teeth, a whore’s tale ain’t neither! She’s a riddle, a rose with thorns, prickin’ thee to ponder.

> Houma Hookers

I get mad sometimes. Traffic on Maple st stinks. Ugh, man, it's a battle every dawn. But then, little cafes like Joe's on King St make ups for it. Their beignets are outta this world. Taste buds go boom!

Anna Lee Scott Franklin Obituary