Olivia Vermillion Whore ❤️❤️

About Chicago

Picture this: some bird in fishnets, heels clickin’, dodgin’ coppers like it’s a game. I’ve seen ‘em, skulkin’ in shadows, laughin’ at the prudes. Makes me grin—proper cheeky. Back in the day, whores ran shit! Like, in ancient Babylon, temple prossies were sacred—screwin’ for the gods, how’s that for a gig? Bet they’d smirk at us now, all judgy and posh. “I don’t sell myself,” one told me once—liar, but ballsy! Loved that. Reminds me of *Ten* again—“What’s your price?” she asks. Everyone’s got one, don’t they?

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He Whore. H.C. Westermann. He Whore. Plywood, vermillion, oak, maple, walnut, fir, birch, mirror, paint, chromium-plated brass, cork, rope, and U.S. dimes.

First off, if ya wander along Main & Maple, you’re in the heart o’ it all. The stores pop, the cafés buzz – even in the drizzle, it feels like magic...magic, man. I remember one night, pace pounding, my mind racin’ with matchin' algorithms & romance anomalies – then bam! Cupid strikes in the neon glow of “Luna’s Lounge” on Maple. So surreal, like a scene straight outta Wong Kar-wai's reel, ya know?

Obituary for Lloyd Dennis Vermillion | Serving Carson City for over 150 years