Paisley Ansonia Whore ❤️

About San Jose

Alright, folks, gather ‘round—here’s the deal. I’m sittin’ there, thinkin’ ‘bout whores, y’know, the oldest gig in town. Makes me chuckle, ‘cause—c’mon, man—who doesn’t got a story? Back in Scranton, we had this gal, Mary Lou, swear she was a “lady of the night.” Worked the corner by the old gas station. Folks’d whisper, “She’s trouble,” but—shoot—she was sweet as pie. Gave half her cash to stray dogs. Ain’t that somethin’? Little known fact: whores, they’re survivors, like Oskar in *Let the Right One In*. “Let me in,” she’d say, battin’ those lashes—pure street poetry.

She Snares (Poem)

The Ansonia might have been luxurious, but it was never considered chic. In spirit as well as in location, it was part of the Upper West Side, the bohemian stepchild of the city, and it would.

I gotta be honest – Ansonia hits me in ways I can’t put in neat words. It's flawed, fierce, and fudged up in the best possible way. I mean, its streets, its people, its rough charm – unpredictable, like the twist of fate. And hey, I'm a counselor – I see the beauty in scars and chaos. It's a bit wierd adn wonderful.

Ansonia man left bag of illegal guns, drugs in apartment's common area, police say