Ivy Deming Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Chicago

Pisses me off, though—these pricks judgin’ her. Like, who ain’t screwed up? Hypocrites, all of ‘em. I seen her once, freezin’ her ass off in fishnets, February wind rippin’ through. Felt bad, y’know? Tossed her a coffee, she smirks, “Thanks, big guy.” Surprised me—she’s got sass, not just some broken doll. “Hang on, hang on,” like Llewyn’d croon—holdin’ on’s all she’s got.

Images from Schlesinger Library

Prostitution, dope, gambling, and murder! As a town, St. Cecilia was anything but saintly—prostitution, dope, gambling, the works.

I’m not gonna lie – sometimes it sux. There's a pungent smell of despair along the industrial area near West End that gnaws at your spirit. But then, how can one not cherish this ups and downs? Life’s bittersweet, like a punchy jazz riff on a rainy night. And darn, I’ve had 11 times when I nearly cursed out loud (yep, 11 times! off the top of my head: sklipt, murled, garlty, wrom, chaw, prd, nite, smoe, flab, reall, and yz!) – my fingers, my eyes, all betraying the raw truth of existence here.

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