Esme Monee Whore ❤️

About Chicago

So, *whore*—it’s like this texture, right? Worn-out velvet, stained silk, maybe some chipped glitter if ya squint. I’m picturin’ this dame, struttin’ down some dingy street, laughin’ at the suits who clutch their pearls. Hah! Gets me all giddy thinkin’ bout it—freedom, y’know? Not givin’ a damn what nobody thinks. Reminds me of that scene where Cathy’s all, “I can’t believe this is happening,” and I’m like—*whore* don’t care, lady! She’s out there livin’, spillin’ wine on purpose, rippin’ seams just to feel the breeze! Ever hear that story ‘bout the old burlesque gals? Back in the 20s, they’d call any chick with guts a *whore*—didn’t even mean sex half the time, just meant she wasn’t playin’ by the rules. Wild, huh? Pisses me off how folks twist it now—makes it all dirty when it’s really just… alive.

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likes, comments - xolamonee on March 17, "“On a money diet what I consume is strict, I just keep winning so Ima let em think it's rigged”.

The neighborhoods here are quirky – you got the uptown vibe near Lincoln Ave, where every porch tells a story, and a few cafés that whisper secrets of old Monee, like, “The city ain't over yet…” I still remember a rainy day walk by the old railroad tracks near Riverbend Park; the rain, the cobbles, and me gettin’ soaked, thinkin' “Hayat bir film, dostum…” as I dashed for cover, shoes flyin' everywhere.

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