Claire Towson Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

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I’m ramblin’, but listen—whores ain’t just sex, they’re stories. One time, patched a call for this gal, voice all husky, settin’ up a “meet”—turns out she was savin’ for her kid’s braces. Broke my damn heart, but also—respect! Made me wanna hug her and yell, “You’re a freakin’ hero!” ‘Cept, ya know, boundaries. Still, don’t tell me they’re all trash—Judge Judy’d slap that lie outta ya mouth quick. “Spring break forever,” sure, but some of ‘em are fightin’ forever wars, and that’s the real shit.

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It is a poem that I believe that all writers, and, by extension, artists can relate to. “To The Whore Who Took My Poems” is a love letter to the creators of the.

Oh, and the river! Not too big, but the Jones Falls runs close. I love sittin’ on its banks on lazy, windy days, thinking 'bout life and all its maddening goodness. Occasionally, the water tumbles over rocks and makes a little ruckus. That sound calms the chaos in my head, like a whispered secret from an old friend.

On the Border Mexican restaurant closes in Towson