Elizabeth Citrus Ridge Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About New York City

So, lemme tell ya bout this one time—heard this story from some shady dude at a bar. Swear it’s true, tho who knows with these types, right? This chick, back in the 1800s, some London alley, was THE whore of her turf. Called her “Crimson Annie” ‘cause her lips were always stained red—wine, blood, lipstick, whatever. She’d hustle all night, dodgin’ coppers, then vanish into the fog. They say she once stabbed a john with her hairpin—bam, right in the neck! Didn’t kill him, but damn, that’s ballsy! Made me laugh my ass off picturin it—her just smirkin, like, “Next!” Got me thinkin—whore ain’t just a job, it’s a freakin attitude.

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Sometimes, I get mad. Like when traffic jams on Central Blvd, dude! "A mystery unfurled in the night…", and it irritates me! But then, I'll cut loose at the local dive bar, Sloppy Joe's – a genuine gem. Boozed up, I share wild tales and hugs like Hulkamania, brother!

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