Ella Slaton Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Philadelphia

Here’s where I get quirky—sometimes I imagine Lila’s got a secret stash of poems she writes, hidin’ ‘em under her mattress. Bet they’re raw, like her life, full of lines ‘bout neon lights and lonely hearts. Ain’t that a hoot? Me, sittin’ here, makin’ up poetry for a gal I don’t even know! But it’s ‘cause I’m rootin’ for her, y’know? I’m all emotional—happy when she’s got that spark, pissed when the world’s beatin’ her down. Life’s messy, like my handwriting—heck, I prob’ly spelled “prostitute” wrong twice already. Don’t care. Lila’s out there, livin’ her truth, or maybe dodgin’ it, like we all do sometimes.

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Now, there’s a river, the Rolling River, meandering near the west side of town. It’s not huge, but its slow flow kinda mirrors life here – steady and weirdly chill. I remember one time, I sat there, lost in thought, you know? The serenity hit me. And “I’m Batman”, right? But nah, just me being in my feels.

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