Hannah Cold Spring Harbor Whore ❤️

About Los Angeles

Lemme tell ya, I’ve bounced plenty outta clubs—girls in fishnets, dudes with cash, the whole sleazy circus. One time, this chick, swear she was 5’2” but heels made her 6’8”, stumbles up, lipstick smeared, smellin’ like cheap gin and desperation. She’s like, “Lemme in, big guy!” I’m like, hell naw, you ain’t VIP, you’re V-I-pee-yourself! Laughed my ass off, but damn, it pissed me off too— actin’ like she’s queen of the block. Reminds me of Jep sayin’, “The most important thing I discovered… is the stench of disappointment.” That’s her, reekin’ of it.

Cold Spring Harbor, NY

whore houses where they work or the jail cells and reformatories where they end up in custody. Essential to their survival is fos tering sympathetic social.

I luv wanderin' down West Main Street, sneakin' peeks at that retro diner. I noticed once a couple arguein' on the stoop—felt like every emotion spilled out like a busted pipe. I mean, as a psych, I vibe on that energy, it's my kinda theater, y'know? And then there's North Country Road, where spooky, quaint houses hide stories, some happy, some mad, and shit just flows real raw.

100 years of the Cold Spring Harbor Laboratory Association