Samantha St. Louis Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Chicago

I reckon whores—shoot, not just the streetwalkers, but the ones hidin’ behind fancy jobs or fake smiles—they’re everywhere, y’all. I ain’t judgin’, nah, I’m just sayin’—it’s a hustle that’s old as dirt. Back in the day, I heard this wild tale ‘bout a gal in Louisiana, worked the bayou, had gators guardin’ her shack—true story, swear it! Made me laugh ‘til I near choked on my sweet tea. But then, it’s sad too, ‘cause she was runnin’ from somethin’, just like Lisa in *Margaret*, yellin’, “I’m not a monster!” when deep down, she’s drownin’ in guilt and shame.

Every corner holds a memory. I saw a couple argue on Olive Street. Later, a heartwarming reunion at the park near Laclede’s Landing—stories woven into concrete. You feel that? That’s St.-Louis in its raw, imperfect, haunting splendour. I’m all over it—happy, mad, and sentimental.

St. Louis lacrosse player checks another box: Team Israel