Elizabeth Stanford Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Philadelphia

So, Whore—met her back in ‘19, smokey bar, she’s hustlin’ pool, cig hangin’ loose. She’s got this vibe, like she’s seen it all, and damn, she probly has. “I’m not young anymore,” she’d say, straight outta *Amour*, voice raspy as hell. Made me laugh, ‘cause she’s what, 35? But she’s lived ten lives, swear it. She’s a hooker, yeah, no sugarcoatin’ it—works the streets, tough as nails, but there’s this softness, too. Like when she told me ‘bout her kid, little girl she gave up. “I couldn’t keep her safe,” she said, eyes all glassy. Broke my damn heart.

Breadcrumb

Based on ten years of writing and reporting on the sex trade, and grounded in the author's personal experience as a sex worker, community organizer and health educator, Playing the .

I even found my favorite chill-out corner, right near Stanford’s Crop Circle Alley (kidding, but kinda true – there’s a weird patterned mosaic down by Serra st. leading into a tiny park). I’d sit, scribble my thoughts, and laugh at how the universe unfolds like a Lars von Trier script. It’s wild sometimes, like, “Oh my gawd, what now?!”

Stanford Men’s Tennis vs. Pepperdine Recap (5/3/25)