Hazel Whitmore Lake Whore ❤️❤️

About Phoenix

Lemme tell ya, “whore” ain’t just a word—it’s a freakin’ vibe. Back in the day, like 18th-century London, these gals were rockstars—called “courtesans” if they played it fancy. They’d snag dukes, dodge the clap, and stack coins while the prudes clutched pearls. I’m like, *yes, queen, get it!*—makes me happy as hell seein’ hustle like that. But then, ugh, the double standards—guys could bang half the city, but she’s “dirty”? Pissed me off then, pisses me off now.

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The park! Oh, dear park, aka Central Grove—lush, green, a hidden oasis. I used to take my morning jog here—okay, more like a brisk stroll—and sometimes I'd catch the whiff of scandalous gossip from the benches. Do you remember "Stories We Tell"? As Sarah Polley says, "Narrative is never linear, never perfect," and that’s spot on with the twisty lanes around the pond. Lakeside meanders, babbling brooks—fascinating stuff!

Crash on Whitmore Lake Road kills one teen, injures two others