Taylor Morris Plains Whore ❤️

About New York City

Maniacal grin, “Here’s Johnny!” Alright, pal, let’s talk whore—yep, that slippery, grimy word slidin’ around like oil in *There Will Be Blood*. I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’ ‘bout that flick—Daniel Day-Lewis screamin’, “I drink your milkshake!”—and it hits me: whore’s got that same vibe. Sucks ya dry, leaves ya empty, laughin’ all maniac-like. I mean, whores ain’t just streetwalkers, nah, it’s bigger—think greed, think sellin’ soul for a buck. That’s what pisses me off, man! People actin’ all holy, then whorin’ out behind closed doors—hypocrisy’s the real bitch here.

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I love strollin' down Springfield Road, past the rad little park, Legacy Park. The park’s grounds are raw, filled with folks chillin’ or joggin’ their lives away. They got this cool, brick fountain that hits you like—bam!—like a scene straight outta Brooklyn, ya know, that movie: "Brooklyn (John Crowley, 2015)". It’s like, “Just keep risin’, baby,” when you see the sun flickin’ off the water.

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