Isabella Schoenheide Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Munich

O thou saucy minx! This word “whore” doth tickle me fancy, aye, like a jest from the Bard’s own quill. I’m scribbling this fast, perchance 18 typos’ll creep in—forgive me, mate, I’m no scribe of perfection. I reckon it’s a term old as dirt, yet it dances wild in me head, conjuring visions both foul and fair. ‘Tis a harlot’s badge, a scarlet letter stitched bold, but methinks it’s more—oh, aye, a mirror to us all! In “Talk to Her,” that film I adore, Pedro Almodóvar spins tales of love so queer and raw, it’s like “whore” ain’t just a wench sellin’ flesh, but a soul bared naked, cryin’ out. “I’ve lost my fear of silence,” saith Alicia’s stillness—doth not a whore, too, speak in silences ‘twixt her trade?

Description

Man, some days I get so mad! Traffic is nuts on Nibble en, and these potholes—ugh, horrendous! But then, man, a stray cat purrs nearby, and my anger melts away. Something about the city calms me down.

The original Red’s Savoy Pizza on East Seventh Street to close after its founder’s death