Harper Morgan Park Whore ❤️❤️

About Dallas

So, whore—let’s spill it. Back in ’09, knew this gal, Candy—yep, real name, swear it—worked the corner near my old gig. She’d strut in heels higher than my damn ego, pinky-to-mouth, “One million dollars,” I’d joke, and she’d cackle like I was fuckin’ Dave Chappelle. Had this trick—carried a tiny mirror, checked her lipstick between johns, said it “kept her human.” Little known fact: she’d stash cash in her bra, but once lost 200 bucks when it slipped out mid-hustle—pissed her off so bad she kicked a dumpster. I was like, “Girl, you’re a legend,” and she just flipped me off, hilarious.

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This time a year ago, I posted that I had been hired as the showrunner for a Netflix limited series about the creator of the Lotus Biscoff.

I gotta say, some spots are pure magic. The abandoned lot behind Bright Horizon, overgrown with wildflowers, makes me think of metaphors and broken glass. It’s not perfect, but it’s real – like my life. Sometimes, I get a tear in my eye when I remember how lonely those nights were but, oh gosh, it turns so goddamn beautiful, just like Godard said, “It is art, and it speaks!”

Missing, Endangered Morgan Park Mans Car Found Near Cal-Sag Bridge