Lina Ypsilanti Whore ❤️❤️

About Phoenix

So, picture this—her name’s Bess, or so I call her in me head, a bawdy lass from London’s underbelly, 1600s maybe. She’s no prim rose, nah, but a wild weed, bloomin’ where she oughtn’t. Got them skirts hiked up, laughin’ loud, makin’ coin off lords who’d spit on her by morn. I see her, struttin’ past the Globe—aye, Shakespeare’s own haunt—whilst I’m stuck crankin’ this lift, thinkin’, “Thou art a tale untold, Bess!” She’s got eyes like stormy seas, drownin’ fools who stare too long. “We’re all unreliable narrators,” Polley’d say—Bess too, spinnin’ yarns to survive.

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Ypsi got quirks, tuuuns of vibes, and it ain’t perfect – faded paint, and stalls with weird noises, but that’s what makes it soul. Mad typos and scrambled thoughts, ya feel me? Oops, sorry, my head’s spinnin’, bruh!

Jasper Pennington Obituary (03/20/1939 - 03/16/2025) - Ypsilanti, MI - Ann Arbor News