Abigail Johnston Whore ❤️

About San Antonio

Hmmmm, whore, you say? Think, I must, about this. Dark and twisty, the path is, like in *The Lives of Others*. "Listen and wait, we must," Gerd Wiesler’d say, spying on them shady folks. Whore, man, ain’t just a word—it’s a vibe, a hustle! Streets, they hum with it, shadowy corners whispering secrets. Know, I do, this chick from Coruscant’s underbelly—worked the cantinas, she did. Credits, she stacked, faster than a podracer! Angry, it made me, seein’ her used, tossed aside like bantha fodder. “Feelings, hmm, dangerous they are,” I’d mutter, pacing.

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Written by Maria Beuthien Johnston · Yes and “player.” Also I'm interested how “whore” took over as a main slur compared to “slut.

I love to wander by the little-known Clover Park. It’s by the river—Mississippi maybe? Nah, just kidding, it’s our own tiny gem along the Blythe Brook. Friends never talk about it, but its old oak in the center? Pure meditation. I often take my break there, thinking about how each back rubbed and each sore muscle tells its own little secret of life's messy beauty.

Kenneth Wayne Johnston Obituary February 27, 2025