Eliza Borger Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Houston

Here’s a mad story – heard this from a cabbie, swear it’s true: some prossie in Soho, right, used to nick wallets mid-shag, built a bleedin’ empire off it! Lived like a queen ‘til the coppers nabbed her. Ballsy, that – respect, sorta. Exaggeratin’ a bit, maybe, but who cares? Point is, whore’s a grind, a hustle, a bleedin’ circus. I’m analysin’ it, pickin’ it apart, and it’s bonkers. “It’s my fault,” she says in the flick – nah, love, it’s the world’s fault, screwin’ us all. Whore’s just the mirror, showin’ us the filth. Cackle at that, mate – it’s grim, it’s daft, it’s bloody brilliant.

Chapters in this book

Badge for the Achievement Top 1% Commenter Top 1% Commenter. That whore! (I still love her though). Upvote Downvote Reply reply. Share.

The city river, Borger Brook, sorta cuts through the town. Not as majestic as Mississippi or whatever, but it's home to secret fishing holes. I once caught a conversation with some old-timers on its banks that turned out to be life lessons disguised as river banter. And lemme tell ya, nothing beats that – not even a massage on a rainy Tuesday!

Women in Jazz, Today - with Kate Borger on Rhythm-a-Ning