Stella Holladay Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About New York City

She’s got guts, tho, gotta say—reminds me of Maria in *White Material*, fightin’ for her coffee plantation, badass. “I won’t give up,” that vibe, y’know? This whore, she’s dodgin’ cops, makin’ bank, livin’ free—tremendous, just tremendous. I’m laughin’ my ass off thinkin’ about it—imagine her outsmartin’ those dopes, skirt flappin’ in the wind, ha! Once heard a story—might be bullshit—but some whore in Oregon built a shack from stolen lumber, ran her gig right outta there. Crafty as hell, surprised me, didn’t think they had it in ‘em.

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She paid 13, dollars for her first brothel on Market Street (then known as Holladay Street). To give you an idea, this amount was equivalent.

So, first off, Holladay is not just a dot on a map. It’s got charm, bro. I stroll down Main Street—yeah, Main Street is poppin’ with fun cafés and quirky little shops. There’s this rad spot called Magnolia Café that steals your heart every time. Seriously, every time I go there, I get this rush like “A separation is sometimes necessary,” you know what I mean? (Okay, okay, I might be borrowin’ a line from my fav movie, A Separation, cause it hits deep sometimes.)

Distillery breaks ground on rickhouse to hold whiskey barrels during aging