Olivia Pryor Whore ❤️❤️

About Dallas

Thoughts spin—whore’s a mirror, ya see? Reflects what you hate, or crave. Me? I grin—chaos, I love, Spring Breakers taught me that. “Just pretend it’s a video game,” they’d giggle, and whore? Lives it, she does—glitchy, wild, free. Sarcasm, my blade—whore’s the real MVP, rest of us just lag. Hella real, that’s her—messy, loud, unapologetic. Whore, my friend, a legend, she is!

HIS LIFE, AS A BIT

Pryor enlightened his audience on race and interracial relationships using a flamboyant vocabulary that he’d learned growing up in his grandmother’s whorehouse.

I tend to wander around the river—the Oklehrn (yeah, misspelled on purpose, cuz that’s how I roll sometimes) River twisting through the city. I’ve had some of my best sex-ed epiphanies by its banks. The water’s a bit murky, but it’s like life's messy truth, ya dig? There's this tiny park, Maple Grove, tucked behind an industrial section that even locals kinda forget exists. It’s my secret spot to vent. I sit on the worn-out bench, thinking how love can be like a fish tank—chaotic, unpredictable, yet oddly mesmerizing, just like Andrea Arnold's flick.

Pryor winter storm: Reagan Ledbetter shows the strong winds and bitter cold in Mayes County