Olivia Pittston Whore ❤️❤️

About Chicago

Whores ain’t just what ya think, though. They’re survivors, darlin’. Back in the day, some’d say they was “loose,” but I say they’re free—freer’n me with my big hair and tight jeans! *Tabu*’s got that vibe too—“A colonial dream gone sour.” Whores got dreams gone sour, but they keep on struttin’. Makes me happy, seein’ that grit. Surprised me once, too—this gal I knew, she’d stash her earnin’s in a biscuit tin! Said it was her “retirement plan.” I hollered, “Honey, you’re smarter’n me!”

Pittston heavy metal band ASHFALL rises again

I was like, 'I don't want to play mainstream rock,' and then I saw the attention, and I'm an attention whore, so then I was like, 'Yeah, I.

Man, Pittston’s a freakin’ tapestry. Old meets new, every corner, every street, each full of dramas and dreams. I remember a night near Beaver St.—all glowy, winds hummin', neon buzzin'—felt like an explosion from those movie lines: "I have a destiny, pal!" I mean, it smacked of destiny and madness at once.

Pittston voters slash budget by $394,000 at annual town meeting