Aurora Poplar Grove Prostitute ❤️

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Happy? Nah, surprises me tho—their stories, wilder than mine. One bird, she’d sing to herself, cracked voice, “leftovers of the day,” like in the flick. Made me soft, it did, hisss, cos I’m a sap for that shit. Texture’s my game, seein’ what’s hid—prostitutes got layers, mate, peeling paint on a wall, beautful and fucked-up. Exaggeratin’? Maybe, but I’d watch ‘em forever, like Agnès with her spuds—gleanin’, survivin’, fuckin’ art, innit? Hiss!

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Ten men are arrested after undercover female officers carry out a prostitution sting at a Rockford hotel. It took place Wednesday, December 30th.

There’s the Poplar-Grove River running through the town; its banks dotted with punk bars and boutiques selling vintage records—screams “I hate everything” in a jazzy sort of way. I could go on, but frankly, I’m tired. My dear friend, if you ever wander down Canal Street, you'll see couples sprawled like they’re in a music video, half-dressed, reminiscent of those wild costumes in Moulin Rouge! (baz luhrmann, y’know). “The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love, and be loved in return,” but here it’s more like “Just get over it already!”

Obituary for Angela "Angie" Ball Eklund