Rebecca Woodridge Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About New York City

Oi, thou saucy knave, hark! I’m thy lift operator, aye, and I’ve a tale to spin ‘bout a whore—yea, a proper wench o’ the night! Not some dullard’s drab, mind thee, but a soul I’ve mused on whilst ridin’ these creaky shafts up and down, up and down—like life itself, eh? Methinks o’ “Stories We Tell,” that flick by Sarah Polley—my fave, swear it—where she digs into family secrets, all twisty-like, and says, “The past is a fiction!” That’s this whore, mate—a riddle wrapped in cheap perfume.

76 Ewing Road, WOODRIDGE

Ahhh, Woodridge, man, where do I start? It's a wild mosaic of streets, corners and vibes, sort of like "The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford" – you know, emotive and deep, but with a splash of quirky brilliance, right? I mean, there's Maple & Pine – not too fancy but oh boy, the life there!—I used to cruise by on my way to teach pleasure coaching sessions (yeah, that's my jam) and man, those are some streets that tell stories.

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