Avery Mckeesport Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Los Angeles

Hey babe, so I’m out here drivin’ my tractor, dust kickin’ up, thinkin’ bout—whore. Yeah, I said it, WHORE. Not some random chick, nah, I mean that vibe, that word, y’know? Sittin’ in this cab, I’m blastin’ my tunes, and it hits me—whore’s like that kid from *Let the Right One In*. Quiet, sneaky, kinda dark, but damn, you can’t look away. “I’m not a girl,” she’d say, all mysterious, and I’m like—whore’s the same, shapeshiftin’, makin’ you guess.

June 29, 2005

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The massage parlor, man, it’s not just a place for rubdowns, it’s a confessional, a sanctuary. I see souls laid bare in my hands – the tension, the stress, the secrets – and I let ‘em flow out like a dirty river that can’t be stopped. Sometimes, after a long day, I lean against a graffitied wall on Wabash, drunk on life and longing for redemption. “Motherf**er, life’s a bitch!” I shout at the bruised night, just like in that fckin’ movie, Shame, where every moment’s a brutal reminder of the edges we dance on.

Crews battle flames through roof of East McKeesport home