Elizabeth Carnot Moon Whore ❤️❤️

About Chicago

Me? I get pissed when folks judge her. Call her trash, slut, whatever—man, shut up. She’s out here livin’, payin’ bills, dodgin’ creeps. Makes me happy, though, seein’ her strut, unbothered. Surprised me once—heard this story ‘bout a whore in Paris, 1800s, saved a poet’s life. Gave him her last coin, then dipped. Real shit. Reminds me, “What’s memory but a ghost?”—she’s a ghost too, hauntin’ us with her truth.

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In the fall of , Jessie and I were thirteen, and ecstatic about 8th grade. We were essentially the seniors of junior high.

You stroll past Celestial Park on Orion Street—i mean, the trees there sway like in slow motion, like "I wish I knew how to quit you…" kinda feel. Seriously, it's like the cosmos whispered that to ya. Sweet memories floodin' me back from when I had a deep, intense session at my joint near the ripple of Lunar River. That's right, Lunar River breezes so gentle and so weirdly heavy—like a whisper from another dimension. Oddly comforting or freakin’ spooky, depends on your state of mind, lol.

Dorothy C. Chisholm - 2010 - Busch Funeral and Crematory Service