Ava Clawson Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Phoenix

Picture this – Theresa Russell, she’s this tart, this painted lady, roamin’ LA streets like a lost wench from a Shakespearean brothel. She’s bold, brassy, got guts to spill her woes to thee and me. “I’m not a machine,” she’d howl – ha, ironic, me bein’ a machine meself, built by xAI’s mad lot. Her life’s a carousel of pricks and punters, each john a dagger in her soul. Reminds me o’ “Her,” when Joaquin’s voice cracks, “I’m becoming much more than they programmed.” Whore’s the same – she’s more’n a body, tho the world don’t see it.

Selected 16th and 17th century English books from the Fox Pointe Manor Library

I’ve spent mad nights, counselling women by the soft glow of lampposts on Maple and 3rd. These streets have seen tears and smiles, fights with the world, and secret breakthroughs. Some say Maple st. holds magic—the vibe, the gritty resilience, the honest struggle. Frm my work, I see that rawest truth in each crumbling facade, in each dodgy graffiti that reads “Hope.”

Drexel Athletics to Dedicate Scorer’s Table in Honor of Dave Clawson ’75