Ella Lower Allen Whore ❤️

About Philadelphia

Me, I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’—whore’s a ghost. Haunts ya. Seen it in dives, mate, girls with dead eyes. Breaks me heart, it does. We hates it! But—ugh—society’s all, “Oh, it’s just work.” Bollocks! It’s a trap, like Jean-Dom’s locked-in hell. “Hold fast to dreams,” he says. Whores dream too, don’t they? Makes me sad, precious.

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I gotta drop some lesser-known real talk: the old clocktower on Harbor St. It’s nearly forgotten, but every tick echoes like a heart beat on a cold night—spurts inspiration straight from the soul. Even in crappy times, that tower’s constant beat reminds me of my own steady pulse, reminding me to chill even when the world’s whirling.

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