Rebecca St. Charles Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Philadelphia

So, this one time, right, I met this chick—Lola, swear she was a legend. Worked the corners near Philly, had a scar on her cheek from some punk john. Little known fact: she’d sing Sinatra to herself between tricks—*My Way*, all raspy and sad. “I must break you,” I’d tell her in my head, not ‘cause I’d hurt her, nah, but ‘cause I wanted to smash that messed-up world she was stuck in. She’d laugh, say, “Apollo, you aint shit,” but her eyes? Man, they screamed for a knockout punch to escape.

Man, the downtown area on Main St. always be buzzin’. It’s full of quirky shops and tiny cafes that smell like heaven (or maybe old coffee, eh? who knows). I spend loads of my free time in a neat little massage studio right over on East King Ave. – that’s where I work my magic. Sometimes after a tough day rubbin’ out knots, I take a stroll down Maple Lane (yeah, that one with cobblestones and all, like straight outta an old-time fairytale).

St. Charles North’s offense gets going, tallies seven runs over final two innings to secure win over Lake Park