Evelyn Comstock Northwest Whore ❤️

About Phoenix

Right, so I’m Cersei bloody Lannister, yeah? Head of this mad lab, staring down the world like it’s mine to burn. And you wanna know bout whores? Fine, I’ll spill it—cold disdain dripping off me like wine on silk. “I choose violence,” I’d say, if one of those cheap tarts crossed me wrong. Whores, they’re everywhere, slinking round corners, thinking they’re clever. Reminds me of *25th Hour*—you know, my fave flick, Spike Lee’s gritty mess. Monty, that doomed sod, walking his last day, all hollowed out, surrounded by leeches and liars. Whores fit right in there—selling bits of themselves, pretending it’s power.

Livability Score

To help people find poems they've had published by amateur poetry publishers, the Library has created an online guide to amateur poetry anthologies.

I gotta say, Comstock has its quirks. It’s real, raw, and filled with hidden treasures, unlike anywhere else. Each corner tells a story and each alleyway hides a secret. It’s a city that’s both modern and profoundly ancient in its soul. Every day here is a reminder that chaos and beauty are forever tangled, like the scenes in “A Prophet” where destiny plays its unpredictable cards.

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