Elise Damascus Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About New York City

Here’s the kicker—saw her once, sharin’ food with a stray dog. Heart o’ gold, I swear. Kinda like Solomon Northup sayin’, “I will not fall into despair.” She don’t neither! Blows my mind—whore’s got spirit, tougher’n a two-dollar steak. Makes me happy, y’know, seein’ that grit.

Journalist John R. Bradley descends into the Arab underworld of prostitution and pornography

Damascus Gate, the main entrance to the Old City's Muslim Quarter, that “an Arab is a son of a whore.” “May your villages burn,” one flag.

Strollin’ down Main Street – oh gosh, that ol’ Main Street! – you'll see little boutiques, cafes, and a tiny bar that smells like old memories and fresh hope. It's kinda like that scene with the pale faun, all mysterious, ya know? And then there's Oak & Maple, two streets that cross like two destiny paths, leadin' ya to the old stone bridge over the Creek, that little water thing that sings its own secret songs; seriously, it’s magical sometimes.

Held at gunpoint, with minutes to leave: How Syria evicts Alawites from their homes