Savannah The Bronx Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About New York City

But here’s where I get twitchy—it’s lazy now. Callin’ someone a whore? Yawn. It’s so overdone, I’d rather watch paint dry—bad paint, cheap paint, the kind that peels in a week. I’d tell my friend, “Dude, if you’re gonna insult, get creative!” I mean, Celine’d never stoop that low, she’d just smirk and sip her wine. Me? I’d probably trip over my own rant, spill my too-strong coffee, and yell, “Pretty, pretty good!” at the mess. That’s whore for ya—messy, loud, and somehow still kickin’.

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At all hours of the day, prostitutes roam the streets around the school, waiting for cars entering and leaving the Cross Bronx Expressway. They bend over car windows and climb inside, in .

Oh my gosh, lemme tell ya 'bout The-Bronx (us)! I'm cruisin' these streets with a relaxed vibe, ya know? This place is full of life—happy, funky, and raw. I walk around Fordham Rd, check out little spots like Arthur Ave. It's a foodie paradise—so many bomb taco trucks and coffee nooks.

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