Scarlett Dowagiac Whore ❤️

About Chicago

Dost thou ken how they’d tat up their skin, some o’ these wenches? Little known, aye—scars o’ roses, inked with soot, to mark their trade. Rough beauty, that, like Kamaji’s sooty hands craftin’ magic. “Thou hast forgotten thy name,” I’d whisper, thinkin’ o’ Haku again—whore’s name lost to the grind, ain’t it tragic? Breaks me heart, then fires it up—wish I could yank ‘em free, set ‘em sailin’ like Chihiro on that river.

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We left Louisville two weeks after Daddy died and spent all summer digging for dinosaur bones at the bottom of a dried up creek in the backwoods of Dowagiac.

I must warn thee: the winters are brutally chill. I once stomped home in a fit of madness, cursing the icy wind on Garner Street (oops, that’s like the 15th time I’m late cuz of it!) and yet, 'tis strangely beautiful. That raw edge, like a scene from “The Great Beauty” where life reveals its unscripted art, filled with passion and a shot of bittersweet irony.

Dowagiac Union Schools revisit mascot debate amid calls from Pokagon Tribal Council