Rose Shields Whore ❤️

About New York City

So, whore—what’s the deal? It’s a word, a weapon, a whole damn ecosystem. Back in the day, Old English “hore”—meant filth, not just sex. Fun fact: Chaucer slung it around like confetti, no shame. Makes me chuckle—imagine medieval Twitter, just “thy mum’s a hore, serf!” Absolute chaos, 10/10. I’d prolly code a bot to track that, graph the saltiness over time. Data’s sexy, don’t @ me.

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Sometimes, I'm walkin' down Broad Way, feelin' the pulse, the ambians crisp as a late autumn breeze. Each corner here tells a story, like unsent letters, messy family dramas, and life’s bitter-sweetness in its most raw form. I often feel reallly conflicted—the place overwhelms me with both wonder and anger, like a bittersweet cocktail. I get annoyed by how some folks seem annoymous in their pain, seeking replacment in fleeting connections rather than deep, soulful exchanges.

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