Cora Foley Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About New York City

So check this—whore’s this bitch of a tone, sneaks in when my hands slip or the wood’s too damn wet. Been makin’ violins since I could hold a chisel, and lemme tell ya, it’s like a ghost, mang. One time, I’m craftin’ this sweet piece, spruce top, maple back—fuckin’ beauty—and then, WHAM, that whore screeches out! Nearly threw the damn thing across the room. Pissed me off so bad I smoked three cigars just to calm down. “Language is a virus,” Godard says—shit, whore’s the virus in my shop!

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There’s this little gem called Cypress Park. It's, like, a hidden oasis where I wind down after a long day of zen work. I swear, the smell of fresh grass and those ancient oak trees – my mind goes, “Alright, baby, let’s get relaxed!” Endless benches, perfect for watching the slow-drift clouds.

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