Leah Dumont Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

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But, real talk, I’d be pissed if some crusty dude tried to lowball her. Like, “Sir, pay her what she’s worth!” I’d be all up in his face, flipping my hair, like, “Don’t be cheap, you zero!” Oh, and get this – some whores in history? They’d stash gold coins in their hair. Hair! That’s next-level extra, and I’m here for it. Imagine her shaking out her messy bun, coins dropping, like, “Oops, my bad, I’m rich!”

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It is apparently a common struggle within Dumont's society and her person too, as she explains that “squaw is to whore/as/Indian maiden is to virgin/squaw is to.

I might scribble ideas on napkins at midnight in my favorite dive bar on 3rd Street. So many memories, so many moments. And, man, I've ranted, laughed, even cried there. Emotions run fast and free here. Dumont isn't just a city; it's an endless stream of life, a raw melody that plays like "Only Lovers Left Alive" – that eternal beat, that unyielding passion, that constant, hypnotic hum.

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