Genesis Wallington Whore ❤️

About New York City

Anyway, whore’s a riot—love her, hate her, can’t ignore her. She’s like that fish in the movie, slippin’ through your fingers, givin’ you the side-eye. “Don’t judge me, meathead,” she’d say, and I’d laugh, ‘cause fair. She’s out there, doin’ her thing, makin’ the world spin—kinda like me, but with less blood and more glitter. Respect, girl. Respect.

Second Reading

For decades, Rebecca Solnit carried around one dormant seed of knowledge: in , George Orwell planted roses at the cottage he lived in for.

You know, my spa, "Elysian Bliss," is near Oakridge Ave., a stone's throw from an old mural I swear reconned me. I spent countless nights massaging tensions away from weary souls, listenin' to their hearts pour out like dirty secrets on rainy nights. Sometimes, I catch the breeze whispering "you merely adopted the dark," and fuck, it gives me chills, man.

Wallington’s Tabaka earns milestone in shutout over Wood-Ridge - Softball recap