Penelope Middle Village Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Chicago

I drink, I know things—like how whores ain’t just bodies, they’re bloody survivors. “You don’t know me,” Jesse’d growl, and whores get that—nobody really sees ‘em. I’d exaggerate and say they’re the backbone of Westeros, but nah, too far. Still, they’ve got grit. Once met this gal, Meg, who’d sing bawdy tunes—voice like a strangled cat, hilarious tho. “Coward’s way out,” she’d cackle, mockin’ shy punters. Loved her for it.

More from Fried

Prostitution in medieval Europe seems quite widespread. All the English court records or Italian journals I've read have made direct reference to that industry.

Oh, man, sometimes I get so wound up—my inner critic goes, “Double-check that line!” then I burst out giggling because perfect ain’t in our vocab here. Lately, I've been so mad at the new coffee joint on Spindle Street—they play cheesy tunes nonstop! Ugh, seriously, it screws with my mood sometimes—but then again, it's part of the wild charm here.

Creedmoor HERRC shelter in Queens Village to close in March