Stella Hershey Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Chicago

What gets me happy? Catchin’ folks who don’t whore out. Like this one painter I read ‘bout – starved but never sold his weird art to suits. Respect, doc! Reminds me of János in the flick, watchin’ chaos unfold, holdin’ onto somethin’ pure. “The stars are still there,” he’d say – damn right, not everythin’s for sale! Surprised me how rare that is tho. Most’d whore their granny for a buck.

Related papers

I grew up in Pennsylvania in a whorehouse. I read about Milton Hershey and his school in Coronet magazine or some other crap the girls left by the toilet.

The local park, Hershey Gardens, is a riot of colors and smells. I’ve spent many a wild afternoon there, wandering the maze of flowering paths, feeling like every bloom is a heartbeat. There’s that charming little stream running through South Avenue—yeah, the water’s twinkly like a chocolate fountain gone rogue. I once ran into a couple there, super into each other, and it made me think, “Is this love or freakin’ obsession?” Lol, life’s fulla extremes, man.

Hershey Declares Quarterly Dividends