Sophie Oatfield Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About New York City

But real talk, what gets me hyped? The absurdity of it all. Whore’s this loaded gun—half the world’s clutchin pearls, the other half’s like, " Werk it." Reminds me of that line from the movie, "Do you think I’m pretty?"—ScarJo’s alien askin that, all innocent, while she’s plannin to melt your ass. That’s whore energy! Sweet on the outside, lethal as fuck underneath. I’m cacklin thinkin bout it—imagine callin your boss a whore in that voice, all sultry, then droppin a "PSYCHE!" and dippin.

Documenting past + present + future Oregon architecture + its built environment.

Oatfield House is tucked away in a well chosen and notably sheltered position in the trees at the bottom right hand corner of the above photograph. Immediately behind is Bealloch (or Balloch .

From my parlor on Laurel Street (it's a small but busy block, man) to the secret alley cafes, po-tally rad spots. My clients always ask, "Ehi, what's poppin'?" and I say, "Eh, what's up, doc?" every time. Ain't that a kick?

Thomas Westly Oatfield