Nora Rosedale Whore ❤️

About Dallas

But—ugh—some stuff burns me. Cops hasslin’ ‘em, like they’re trash. Or pimps—slimy jerks—beatin’ ‘em down. Saw Jenny with a black eye once—nearly cried, man. She shrugged, “Part of the gig.” Tough as nails, that one. Reminds me of Varda’s potato lady—bent, but still growin’. Whores got stories—secret ones. Like, didja know medieval whores had guilds? Fuckin’ unions, man! Badass.

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We were fooling around behind school one day when he suddenly pinned me to the ground and raped me. When I arrived at school the next day, he.

Every nook be full of quirks. Flickerin’ neon signs on Birch Ct. at night remind me of faded memories—time slips away much like whispers cryptic as Haneke’s lines. “A man, or a machine,” I muse, as I press tense shoulders to ease their burdens.

Miss Eva’s Detroit opens in North Rosedale Park