Penelope Crofton Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Philadelphia

Oi mate, gather round, lemme ramble—whore, eh? What a word, what a concept! Been around since forever, hasn’t it? Old English “hore,” filthy roots, mea culpa, all that. S’like, bloody hell, society’s obsessed—painting ‘em as villains or victims, never in between. Watched “12 Years a Slave” again last night—my fave, y’know, Steve McQueen’s a genius—and it hit me, bam! “I will survive this,” Solomon says, clinging to dignity. Whores, too, they survive, don’t they? Gritty as hell, tougher than a centurion’s sandals.

Where the hell is that? Crofton: a failed temperance town

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Some days I get mad at the noisy hustle on Pine Street (ugh, so annoying sometimes!), but then I find solace near the sculpture garden at West End. A lil' hidden oasis, not many peeps know ‘bout it. Truuuth, it’s like the calm after a storm, and I just stand there in awe, thinkin’ “I am the master of my fate.” Haha, doh, guess I’m havin’ one of my those days!

Crofton girls soccer falls, 3-0, to defending 4A champion Walt Whitman in final