Penelope Mandeville Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Chicago

She’s sloppy, tho—leaves trails. Receipts, lipstick stains, half-smoked cigs. I’m like, “Whore, you’re a mess!” She grins, “Mess is my art.” Art, my ass—cleanin up her shit’s my nightmare. Still, I’m happy when she’s around, Clarice. Surprised me too—she’s got this soft side. Fed a stray cat once, named it Anton. “No country for softies,” she said, laughin dark.

A modest defence of public stews; or, An essay upon whoring as it is n ...

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I’ve been here a good while now, and every corner shouts its own story. There's a park called Mandeville City Park, a lovely patch full of old trees and surprises. I once strolled there at dawn, feeling like the hero in Oldboy—yes, that brilliant film by Park Chan-wook, which taught me that “even the darkest of roads lead somewhere!” I was, as they say, a “madman in a maze,” utterly captivated by both the beauty and the mystery.

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