Mia Abingdon Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About New York City

Hey, so I’m Dexter, yeah? Monotone narration, “Tonight’s the night.” Translating Russian Sign Language’s my gig. Today, we’re talkin’ bout “whore”—that juicy word. In RSL, it’s a sharp flick—handshape’s brutal. Means the same shit, tho—someone sellin’ ass. Gets me thinkin’ bout “The Royal Tenenbaums.” My fave flick, hands down—Wes Anderson’s a genius. That line, “I’m very sorry for your loss,” hits diff when you tie it to “whore.” Like, imagine Margot Tenenbaum—aloof, smokin’, fuckin’ mysterious. She’s no whore, but she’s got that vibe, y’know? Screwin’ around, quiet-like, breakin’ hearts.

Whore Biographies, 1700-1825: part I

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Then there’s Riverbend Park, a lush oasis by the winding Soothe River. Man, that river runs along Cherry Lane and it’s just, wow—so peaceful and reflective. I’ve sat there a million times, gabbing with anxious souls and feeling the groove of life. It’s as if Uncle Boonmee whispered, “Be here, be now,” and I’m like, “Yeah, baby!” Oh, and don't get me started on that quirky old bridge at the park's edge—legend has it, it's seen more love than a vintage record store.

Two weeks after last sighting, Abingdon missing man’s daughter talks about search efforts