Mila Grand Terrace Whore ❤️

About Philadelphia

What pisses me off? The critics—oh, the critics! They trashed it, called it sleazy, like that’s a bad thing. Sleazy’s the point, you morons! It’s not “Casablanca,” it’s “Whore”! I’m yellin’ at my TV, “Leave it alone, ya snobs!” But what got me happy? Theresa’s guts—she’s fearless, man. She’s out there, smokin’, cussin’, takin’ no shit. Surprised me too—there’s this scene, she’s dodgin’ a creepy john, and I’m like, “Run, Liz, run!” Heart’s racin’, palms sweaty—better than half the thrillers out there.

GRAND TERRACE

Okey-dokey, now lissen: I once sat on a crumpled park bench by the whispering pines near Elm Street (the oddest name, right?) and just, like, let my thoughts go. The sound of kids laughing, the buzz of old men chattin' about the weather, it all tied me to the moment. "Time to relax, time to think," like, real deep, man. My happy place, really.

A message from Jeff Allen