Harper Huron Whore ❤️

About Chicago

So, whores—shit, where to start? Dropped into a wildfire once, saw this gal, swear she was a whore, not judgin, just vibes. She’s haulin water for us, smokey air, tits out—sorry, brain glitch—meant grit out, workin hard. Surprised me, yo! Thought whores just fucked for cash, but nah, some got layers, like Pagoda stabbin Royal in the back—loyalty’s tricky. Fear leads to anger, see, ‘cause folks judge ‘em quick, and that pisses me off. Whore’s life ain’t easy, man—dodgin cops, creeps, and shitty motels.

Listen to the album whore by Mehro

Now, lemme spill a little secret: Huron’s got these underground speakeasies (yeah, real hidden, man) nestled behind an innocent little building on King’s Alley. I mean, talk about a scandalous whisper of the past! Sipping on illicit cocktails. I swear, every face had a secret, every laugh a story. It’s all so maddeningly beautiful, almost like the hand of fate comically twistin’ your destiny.

How a long journey through hockey landed Reggie Millette in Port Huron