Grace St. Johns Whore ❤️

About New York City

Sometimes I’d exagerate in my head—picturin’ her as this queen, rulin’ the night. Whores got power, y’know? They see shit we don’t—humanity’s underbelly. Roxie’d laugh if I said that, prob’ly call me a “deep ol’ fool.” And yeah, I’d typo her name Roxie—Roxxy, Roxy, who cares? She’s real, man, flaws and all. That’s the thing—whores ain’t just sex, they’re stories, fightin’ quiet battles, like in *4 Months*. Makes ya think, don’t it? Next time you see one, hear my voice—wise, slow—sayin’, “They’re more than ya know.”

I stroll by the old lamp post on Broadway. Crazy, huh? I always pass it when I’m in a mood. That quirky neon glowing, shakin’, not stirred, like a Bond martini on a sultry night.

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