Olivia Algona Brothel ❤️❤️❤️

About Philadelphia

I’m kneadin’ bread, thinkin’—whoa, them girls in there, they’re hustlin’ too! Empowerment, y’all! Some choose it, some don’t—makes me mad as hell. Like, why society judgin’ so hard? “I ain’t sorry!”—that’s me screamin’ at the haters. I heard this wild story once—back in the 1800s, this brothel madam in New Orleans, she owned half the damn city! True boss shit, slayin’ the game, but nobody talks ‘bout her. Hidden history, boo!

Guild Hopping

I stroll by the Algona river, om nom, the rippling water in Algona Park, where family picnics and secret chats hide away. Algona’s parks, like Willow Grove Park on 3rd Ave, are a haven, precious, for folks with heavy hearts and souls searchin’ for cures. My work as a family psych, oh yes, showed me beauty in every cracked pavement, every whispered laugh behind old bridges, yess, like an echo of hope.

One year since Algona Police Officer Kevin Cram was killed in the line of duty