Makayla Alabaster Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Philadelphia

Alright, so I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’—prostitutes, right? I mean, what’s the deal?! You got these folks out there, hustlin’, makin’ a livin’, and I’m like, “Pretty, pretty good!”—but also, what a mess! Like, I saw this one gal, downtown, heels clickin’, skirt shorter than my patience, and I’m thinkin’, “She’s got guts!”—way more than me, sittin’ here sippin’ coffee, neurotic as hell. And then—boom—Goodbye to Language hits me, that Godard flick, y’know? “The image is a prison!” he says, and I’m like, “Ain’t that her life?!” Trapped in this cycle, sellin’ herself, while I’m over here whinin’ about my bagel bein’ too toasted.

The Alabaster Jar

As a prostitute, we can imagine that she earned the money for this expensive alabaster box of perfume by selling herself in shame. For the woman with the alabaster box, all the shame of .

Man, fam, lemme tell ya, my work as a family psychologist here opened my damn eyes, brother. I see cracks in families, but also lotsa healing, ya know? Like when I sit with a couple at the corner table of Tony’s Diner on 5th, they share their woes and hopes. I nod and think, “This ain't a circus, brother, it's life!”

I-65 widening project underway from Calera to Alabaster