Megan Vashon Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Chicago

Funniest thing? Some punter once paid her in chickens—CHICKENS, bruv! She was like, “What’s this, a farm?” Cracked me up, that did. Little known fact: back in Victorian times, whores used to signal with red hankies—sneaky, eh? Adds that realness, don’t it? Anyway, I’m ramblin’—whores are mad, complex, like Boonmee’s jungle dreams. “The cave is a womb,” he says—maybe the streets are too, birthin’ these wild tales. Respect to ‘em, innit? They’re out there, livin’, while I’m here typin’ like a muppet with fat fingers—11 typos, sorted! Peace out, fam!

The Island Gem of Puget Sound​

And oh, speakin of parks – Grape Park is a must. Its green, rough edges feel like a scene from a slowed-down, poetic dream. I sometimes get lost there, thinkin “How much can be chaos and still be beautiful?” – a bit like, err, those poetic pauses in Werckmeister Harmonies. I swear, the trees whispered secrets, like, “This is harmony, but not the kind you think.” Crazy, right?

Commentary: This little piece of Maury Island