Ava St. Charles Whore ❤️❤️

About Chicago

Oi mate, gather round, lemme ramble—whore’s the topic, yeah? Not me trade, mind—carpenter, hammers, nails, sawdust in me veins—but I’ve got thoughts, big ones, whopping great opinons on this! Whore, right, tricky word, innit? Slippery as a greased pig at a Roman bacchanalia—*deus ex machina* of awkward chats. Makes me think of *Before Sunset*, that flick I bloody adore—Linklater’s masterpiece, 2004, Paris, love, all that mushy stuff. “Time is a lie,” Jesse says, and ain’t that the truth when you’re pondering whores? Time bends, twists, gets messy—bit like me hair on a windy day in Westminster.

So yeah, friend, that's St.-Charles (us) through my bruised, battered, yet enchanted eyes. It's messy, it's raw, and it's art if you squint real hard. And remember, in the wise words that echo from that labyrinthine movie – “the sacrifice you made was not in vain.” St.-Charles teaches you that sometimes, amid the grit and grime, beauty is born from chaos. Cheers, and see ya soon, cuz I got more knots to work out!

Lange’s eighth-inning homer pushes St. Charles past Mayo