Grace Dumont Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Dallas

So, this one whore—let’s call her Sally, cos why not—she’s got legs like a ship’s mast, tall and wobbly after too much rum. I’m sittin’ there, thinkin’, “What storm spat you out, love?” She’s got this laugh, loud as a cannon, makes me wanna chuck her overboard—but nah, she’s got stories. Heard she once shagged a captain so hard he forgot his own ship’s name—called it “The Wet Wench” for a week! Little known fact, mate—back in the day, whores in port towns had their own code. Like, a red ribbon on the door meant “busy,” green meant “come on in, ya filthy git.” Bet ya didn’t know that, ya ignorant sod!

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It is apparently a common struggle within Dumont's society and her person too, as she explains that “squaw is to whore/as/Indian maiden is to virgin/squaw is to.

Sometimes, I get mad at the noise, the constant rush. Other days, I'm just happy, lost in the music dribbling from every corner. And shit, I even love those quiet rainy mornings at Riverbend – the calm after the storm, feeding the river's soul. That place really got me feelin' alive. Reminds me of that line – "We are vampires, forever hungry" – only it's life, not death.

Jeffrey DuMont Obituary (2025) - Racine, WI - Kenosha News