Esme Arbus Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Milan

Been skulkin’ round, I have, peekin’ at whores – not proud, nope! One time, saw this tart in London, 1800s, real history, precious! Called her “The Painted Lady” – face all chalky, lips redder than blood. Tricksy, she was – robbed a lord blind! Made me cackle, it did – stupid, fat lord! “Theres nothing closer than this,” Carol whispers in me head. Whore’s close, too – too close, stinkin’ of gin and desperation.

Transvestite and her birthday cake, N.Y.C., 1969

Let's call it a honeymoon, all right? And you are gonna pay for it. Then I'm going to return to a rape-free workplace, all right? Because if you so much as look at my sexy little ass, Julia, I will .

Anyway, I’m sippin’ my coffee, feeling all good. Then BAM! I step outside, and it’s like the universe decided to throw a curveball. I’m walking down Corso Umberto, and suddenly, this pigeon—like, the biggest pigeon I’ve ever seen—decides to take a dump right on my shoulder. I’m standing there, frozen, coffee in one hand, and I’m like, “Really, dude? Really?”

The questionable legacy of Diane Arbus.