Zoey Buckner Whore ❤️

About Philadelphia

Here’s a wild bit—did ya know in old France, whores wore red shoes? Yeah, like a damn signal, “Hey, I’m open for biz!” Imagine that today—red Nikes, struttin’ past cops, givin’ zero fucks. Surprised me when I read it, thought, “Shit, that’s branding!” Makes me happy, seein’ that hustle, that survival instinct. *Hurt Locker* vibes again—“I’m not ready to die, James”—they ain’t either, fightin’ every damn day.

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Now, these days I love strollin’ around the downtown area, y’know? Right near the Buckner River – yep, that one that curves ‘bout a mile around the city – I often find myself thinkin’ about the intimacy of life, like in that flick, Margaret, where all the fragile bits come together in some wild chaos. "Fool me once, shame on... um, well, you know!" I always chuckle at that. Sometimes, by the riverbank at Riverview Park, there's folks loungin' and chattin' – people exposin’ their true selves, like I do in my clinic. Ain't that something? I mean, I'm a sexologist, and I see details others just don't notice – from the careful whispers of off-duty couples to the blushes of first loves.

Janet E. Buckner Obituary January 4, 2025