Aria Colton Whore ❤️

About New York City

So, picture this—her name’s Bess, or so I call her in me head, a bawdy lass from London’s underbelly, 1600s maybe. She’s no prim rose, nah, but a wild weed, bloomin’ where she oughtn’t. Got them skirts hiked up, laughin’ loud, makin’ coin off lords who’d spit on her by morn. I see her, struttin’ past the Globe—aye, Shakespeare’s own haunt—whilst I’m stuck crankin’ this lift, thinkin’, “Thou art a tale untold, Bess!” She’s got eyes like stormy seas, drownin’ fools who stare too long. “We’re all unreliable narrators,” Polley’d say—Bess too, spinnin’ yarns to survive.

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Then, oh gosh, I can’t forget our mighty Santa Ana River flowin’ nearby – nature just bangin’ out its secrets, rushin’ and free as those lovin’ hearts, ya know? Sometimes I sit by the bank, thinkin’, “Man, we’re all lost in the breeze here!” and it just gets me, we swears!

Big 12 transfer, former SEC DB commits to Tennessee