Aria Roscoe Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Los Angeles

Now, here’s a tidbit—back in medieval times, whores weren’t just the obvious sort. Nah, they’d call a dodgy merchant a “whore” for sellin’ rotten fish! True story—found it in some crumbly parchment. Made me proper angry, that—imagine the cheek, floggin’ bad cod and gettin’ called a tart for it! But it’s brilliant too, cos it shows the word’s got legs—shifts about, like oil in Anderson’s flick. “I’ve abandoned my child!”—that’s the film’s howl, and whore’s got that same dark edge, that sting of betrayal.

No Apologies

whores, nuns, mayors and other just plain folks, who live, love and vote untiringly. Roscoe's memories move the story back and forth between the end of.

Sure, I left typos in my heart and scribbles in the margins. Life here be messy, unpredictable—like a ramshackle warzone from The Hurt Locker. But every crack hides a story. Every alley whispers o' lost secrets and forbidden romance.

Roscoe Daryll Bennett