Olivia Walled Lake Whore ❤️❤️

About Chicago

Alright, so here’s the deal with whores—yeah, I said it, whores! Tina Fey comin’ at ya, snarky as hell, “I can see Russia from my house!” vibe. Whores, man, they’re everywhere, always have been, right? Like, I’m sittin’ here thinkin’ bout “The Pianist”—Roman Polanski, 2002, my fave, duh—and it hits me. Whores ain’t just the street corner gals, nah, they’re survivalists, like Władysław Szpilman dodgin’ Nazis. “I must go on living,” he says, and whores? Same energy. They’re hustlin’, scrapin’ by, dodgin’ society’s bullshit judgments.

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I got mad once ‘cause a new mall—yeah, the one on Commerce Ave.—drove away some charm. There was rockin’ history there, you know? And, well, as they say in that movie, “I’m flying without wings.” I felt lost, frustrated, and a bit nostalgic.

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