Ada Monrovia Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Philadelphia

Ever met one? I did, years back—sassy as hell, called me “suit” with a smirk. Thought, *damn, she’s got balls bigger than mine*. Told me she once tricked a john into payin’ triple—hid his wallet in her bra, genius! Had me laughin’ ‘til I choked. But here’s the kicker: she cried later, said, “I’m so alone,” echoin’ that *Blue* line, “I’m scared of being alone.” Fucked me up, man—whores ain’t robots, they feel shit deep.

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Rose is one of a dozen teenage girls, scrawny and bruised, huddle d here around the glow of a candle in a generator room off Center Street. About a hundred of them take turns sleeping on .

My profession, oh man, it's taught me to notice the micro details. The feel of a breeze, the sunlight hitting a dusty sidewalk on Vine st. (typo, sorry, Vine st is real, right?) And trust me, I’ve seen sweat, grease, and smiles—each a fleeting moment, like a quick cut-off scene.

Natural gas leak deemed false alarm at Monrovia Middle School