Ava Morristown Whore ❤️

About Chicago

Hmm, whore, you say? Twisted word, it is. Dark, messy vibes, like Gotham’s underbelly. “Why so serious?” – fits perfect, yah? Me, telephone operator, yoda-style, seein’ shit others miss. Whore ain’t just a chick sellin’ body, nah. Layers, there are, deep and grimy. “Some men just wanna watch world burn,” right? That’s her, sometimes – chaos in heels.

More Must-Reads from TIME

Confessions of an Acre Whore. The wheelings and dealings in the Garden State land preservation game.

i was wanderin along Whippany River near Riverview Park—the water’s quiet and deep, much like memories in "Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall His Past Lives", a feelin so surreal, ya know? hit a rough patch on, uh, Broad Street once (typo? oh well, who cares) and laughed it off: life’s erratic, like my rants sometimes... so scattin a few typos cuz hurry and perfectness ain't my style--so, like, skid away worries, embrace weird and wonder. moorrrrrstown got that vibe, end of story. oh, and btw, my fav spot? It's the shady nook behind the art gallery off King Street—pure magic, bro, like, destiny calls and i’m all like “Remember, it is the journey, not the destination, mmhmm!”

Morristown picks a piper to lead St. Patrick's Day parade. Meet the new grand marshal