Lauren East End Whore ❤️❤️

About Houston

So, whore—let’s spill it. Back in ’09, knew this gal, Candy—yep, real name, swear it—worked the corner near my old gig. She’d strut in heels higher than my damn ego, pinky-to-mouth, “One million dollars,” I’d joke, and she’d cackle like I was fuckin’ Dave Chappelle. Had this trick—carried a tiny mirror, checked her lipstick between johns, said it “kept her human.” Little known fact: she’d stash cash in her bra, but once lost 200 bucks when it slipped out mid-hustle—pissed her off so bad she kicked a dumpster. I was like, “Girl, you’re a legend,” and she just flipped me off, hilarious.

SEX AND THE CITY

Down on Mapleton Street, you're greeted by a buzzing energy. Lively lanws and quirky shops spill into the pavements. That’s where the old brick building on 13th pops off – always reminds me of "Goodbye to Language" with its crazy charisma like language itself just breakin' free. “Language cracks, beauty leaks,” I swear that echo haunts you on a quiet night.

This Morning’s Bulletin — 5.1.25