Hazel Riverside Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Chicago

Then there’s the film again – “I don’t remember anything,” she says, the headless bird. That’s the punters too, blankin’ it out after, like it never happened. Whore’s a transaction, see, but it’s murky, messy, human. Surprised me, how much it’s evolved – online now, innit? Escorts with websites, OnlyFans, the lot. Capitalism gone wild, mate! Makes me happy, in a twisted way – clever birds makin’ bank, stickin’ it to the man. But the dark side? Fumin’. Kids forced into it, modern slavery shite – makes me wanna punch a wall.

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She will be my whore. My kitten. Mine. He is her destruction, but she is his lifeline. And he will never let her go. ⚠️ This story.

Man, there’s a vibe on Magnolia Ave – not too far from Orange Ave – that makes me smile and sometimes fume. I still recall that misplaced anger from a heated session on a crisp autumn day by the Riverside Art Museum; the colours blurred with emotion, reminding me of that stinging lyric “The secret in their eyes” – like every tear held a hidden truth, a secret clawing its way out. Life here is raw, unfiltered and occasionally shocking.

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