Anna Hunts Point Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Philadelphia

D’oh! Alright, lemme tell ya bout “whore”! This word’s old as dirt, man. Been around since forever, like some crusty barfly. Comes from Old English “hore” – yeah, real classy. Meant a chick who, y’know, got around. Kinda like Marge when she’s mad at me, heh! Nah, just kiddin’, don’t tell her I said that. Anyway, I’m sittin’ here thinkin’ bout *Werckmeister Harmonies*, that flick I love. “The world’s gone mad,” they say in it. Fits perfect with “whore,” don’t it? Society’s all judgy, pointin’ fingers, callin’ names. D’oh! Makes me mad, man, how folks act holier-than-thou.

52, and Still Working the Streets

Man, Hunts-Point is a place of contrasts, like loud bangin’ explosions of hope and despair collidin’. Every corner has a vibe, every alley whispers a secret. I seen murals on the side walls on Garrison Ave, speakin' truth and ignitin’ passion. Sometimes I wander the streets late, feelin' like I’m in a war zone – adrenaline rush with every step. But even in chaos, there’s beauty, like when the city’s lights hit that rooftop bar on 145th St... just magical, yo.

At America’s Biggest Fish Market, 3 A.M. Is Prime Time