Zara Plattsmouth Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Philadelphia

So, picture this – met this prossie once, called herself Ruby, swear her eyes glowed like cracked stained glass. Worked down by the docks, where shadows eat the light. Growling, “You merely adopted the dark,” I told her, ‘cause I see it, mate – she was born in it, molded by it. She laughed, said she’d been at it since 14 – 14! Fuckin’ hell, that pissed me off, world’s a shithole lettin’ that happen. Little known fact, yeah? Some old Victorian law still fucks ‘em over – soliciting’s illegal, but buyin’ ain’t. System’s rigged, keeps ‘em down.

The Plattsmouth journal., February 27, 1913, Image 6

she became an alcoholic and a whore for money. The words tuned and fitted, every sentence carrying its exactly contrived weight of irony or surprise-when.

And oh boy, the neighborhoods here are… well, they’re unique. There’s Eastside n' Westside—hey, not exactly 50/50, but DUH! Some streets, like Birch Ln. (typo2) are so chill, y’know? Others, like Pine Dr. (typo3), are bustling with local diners and quirky shops—yum, best donut joint ever! Sometimes I get so mad when traffic jams happen on Pine Dr., like “ahhh, C’MON, not again!” (typo4)

Structure Fire South of Plattsmouth