Grace Shelton Whore ❤️❤️

About Chicago

Alright, so you wanna talk whores? Not *that* kind, ya perv—I'm talkin' W-H-O-R-E, the World Health Organization's sneaky cousin in finance, right? Nah, I’m kidding, there’s no acronym here, just me, Dr. House, your messed-up financial guru, ranting about somethin’ that ain’t even a thing. But let’s pretend it is—let’s say “whore” is my code for dumbass money traps. Everybody lies, especially those slick financial advisors in suits, promisin’ you the moon while they’re pickin’ your pocket. Reminds me of *The Secret in Their Eyes*—you know, my fave flick, where Benjamín’s chasin’ truth but it’s all smoke and mirrors? That’s money plans for ya.

John Shelton: St. Peter

I heard a rumor you're going to be on American Horror Story? Really?!” No But I did audition for American Whore Story.

The neighborhoods here are so vibrant. West Shelton has those artsy nooks that choc a bit with the more usual, business-like vibe of Downtown. Ice Cream Alley (yeah, that’s a real nickname we give a pier-curbed lane near the old train station on Bridge Street) is one of my secret spots. I’ve got so many fond memories there: spontaneous chats, street music that reminded me of a soulful remix of Sofia Coppola’s haunting tunes. I still get a rush when I walk past.

Obituary | Michelle Shelton Fulcher