Emily Ladson Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Chicago

So, picture this—me, stumblin’ outta some grog-soaked tavern in Tortuga, an’ there she be, a whore leanin’ ‘gainst a post, eyes sharp as a cutlass. She’s no prim lass waitin’ fer a prince, nah, she’s got grit! Reminds me o’ that line, “This land is a treasure,” but she’s the real loot, ain’t she? I toss her a wink, she smirks—bloody hell, I’m hooked! Whores ain’t just about the tumble, see? They’ve got stories—little-known ones, too. Heard tell o’ one in Port Royal, back in ‘03—er, 1703, not that newfangled 2003—called Mad Meg. Lass had a peg leg, lost it to a shark, swore it made her “twice the woman.” Customers lined up fer the tale alone, savvy?

Horry Co. man faces unlawful communication charges from SLED

Extending critical race theory as a frame, Gloria Ladson- Billings explains how conceptual categories have replaced older ideological constructs of race: in.

First off, let me take ya down Main St. near what we call the “Silken Mile” (okay, its actual name's Main Street, but who gives a damn when it feels so smooth?). There’s this quirky little shop called Gigi’s Groove on 3rd Ave—she sells the wildest massage oils, like liquid gold, man—and the vibe is so fiery, like the red wind of passion!

Obituary for Sharon R. Ladson