Chloe Claremore Whore ❤️

About New York City

Little. Known. Shit? In. Victorian. Times. They’d. Whisper. “Whore.” Like. It’s. Cursed. Hid. It. In. Polite. Chat. “Lady. Of. The. Night.” Ha! Cowards. Me? I’d. Shout. It. From. The. Treetops. Whore! Whore! Whore! Echoes. Like. That. Wind. In. Turin. Horse. “Everything’s. In. Ruins.” They. Moan. Yeah. Whore’s. Ruined. Too. But. Still. Stands.

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Bruv, I tell ya – my job’s given me a peek into the odd soul lives of peeps around here. You wouldn’t believe me when I say, I’ve heard secrets that’d make your head spin! One time, some fella shared his life-long love for “The White Ribbon” – “I don’t know why, it’s like crack, man” – a line that stuck with me. I always chuckle, like “Aiiight, but is it art or somethin’ else?” – his musings soundin' all deep and shite.

Q&A: Claremore voters decide Tuesday whether to increase sales tax for the first time in 30 years