Isabella Cold Spring Whore ❤️

About New York City

So, picture this—some gal in fishnets, smokin’ a cig, leanin’ on a lamppost like she owns the night. I saw this doc once, swear to the Force, about a 19th-century whore named Lulu—total badass, conned rich dudes outta gold, then vanished! Historians think she dipped to Paris, livin’ large. That’s the tea, fam—whores got hustle! Makes me happy as hell, ‘cause screw the patriarchy, y’know?

Home Is Where The Whore Is

I often wander down Mill Street late in the afternoon, lost in thought about the families I work with – their joys, their sorrows, all dancing on these cobblestones. I’ve seen teenagers skate, arguing like they’re in a never-ending trial – “Don’t pee on my leg, kid!” – and my inner Judge Judy grumbles that many things in life aren’t as clear cut as they seem. I mean, chaotic, wild, and beautiful, all the same.

It’s not you—it’s cancer