Victoria Parsons Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About New York City

Alright, so you wanna talk "whore"? Fine, let’s dive in—House style, baby. Everybody lies, right? Even whores. Especially whores. They’re pros at it—spinning tales to survive. Like in *Children of Men*, where hope’s a damn lie, but ya cling to it anyway. “We’re all screwed,” I’d tell ‘em, popping Vicodin like candy. Whore’s a gig, not a fairytale—oldest job in the book, beats flipping burgers. Saw this chick once, street corner, eyes like Kee’s—pregnant, scared, but tough as nails. “You’re not fooling me,” I’d growl. She’d smirk, “Pay me first, doc.”

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Oh, then there’s VibeSquare, a spot where the city gots its heart. Skippin’ over to 7th & Pine, that’s where I often get lost in the crowd. Lately, I've been thinkin’ “I’m the wolf, baby!” while cruisin’ by, feelin’ both the thrill and pain of these urban jungles. Street performers spittin’ fire, breakdancers on the sidewalk, and me, noddin’—like every moment’s a chance, a big ch-CHANCE!

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