Addison Keyser Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About New York City

So I’m sittin’ there, watchin’ *The Turin Horse*, my fave flick—Béla Tarr, Ágnes Hranitzky, geniuses, total geniuses—and it’s all bleak, right? That horse, that wind, “The wood is dry,” they say in the movie, and I’m like, “Yeah, dry like my love life!” But whores? They ain’t dry, nah, they’re out there, makin’ it happen, rain or shine. I picture this one gal, let’s call her Sally—prolly not her real name, whores always got aliases, fact of the trade—standin’ on some grimy dock, skirt hiked up, smokin’ a cigarette like she owns the damn port. And I’m like, “Good for you, Sally! Pretty, pretty good hustle!” But also—kinda grosses me out! All those sweaty sailors, me included—ugh, the hygiene, the STENCH. Makes me wanna shower just thinkin’ bout it.

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Alright, lemme tell ya 'bout Keyser, uh, in the US—real small town vibe, but, uh, it's got character, y'know? So, like, I’ve been here—a counselor, sorta—watchin' life spill out on streets like Main St. and Maple Ave. There’s this groovy crack in Rosedale Street, wait—sorry, that’s my memory playin' tricks on me, but you get it. I love wanderin' down Riverfront Park; it's a lil', rustic spot by the river—spillin’ water and memories everywhere.

Keyser and Frankfort stay busy in track and field