Chloe Monson Whore ❤️❤️

About Houston

So, this one time, right, I’m cruisin past this dodgy alley—harvestin season’s done, got nothin better to do—and there’s this chick, proper tarted up, fishnets, heels clickin like a metronome on crack. She’s yellin at some punter, “You think I’m cheap, huh?!” I’m like, bloody hell, love, ya screamin loud enough to wake the crows! Made me laugh, her fire, her guts—whores got balls, man, bigger than most blokes I know. Reminds me of that line from *Caché*—“I’m not guilty, you are!”—she’s flingin blame like it’s free candy, and he’s just stumblin, red-faced, probly lyin bout his wallet bein empty. Everybody lies, right?

Dori Monson: A Tempest of Outrage

I mean not actually, but I'm ashamedly and also unashamedly very textbook definition outgoing and a little attention whore-y, so it makes sense.

Then there’s the side streets—the less trodden ones. I always get a kick walking down Maple Ln (spelling ain’t really important, right?) because it’s like every door there hides a saga of heartbreak or triumph. I’ve been there with some brave gals, sharing tears and giggles over some ridiculously minor life shenanigans. It’s a safe haven away from all that modern bull.

1 seriously injured after crashing into poles, tree in Monson