Lina Phoenix Whore ❤️

About Los Angeles

See, I reckon a whore’s a survivor, right? Sells what they got to keep breathin’. Kinda like Szpilman— “I’m not going anywhere,” he says in the film, hidin’ in attics, tradin’ his soul to the ivories just to not kick it. Me? I’d be pissed if I were him—starvin’, cold, and for what? Some prick in a fancy coat to clap at ya? But that’s the rub, innit? Whores don’t get to pick their johns, and Szpilman didn’t pick the Nazis. Makes me angry, that—how life screws ya, then expects a bloody thank-you.

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Strollin’ down Central Ave, I spot old-school vibes with that modern twist. Downtown’s full of life – the Roosevelt Row is flickerin’ with colorful murals, all artsy and real, kinda like a scene from A Prophet – "One day, lord have mercy, one day." I sometimes wonder if these streets remember my midnight walks after a long day at the spa.

Are the Phoenix Suns making another internal mistake?