Ada Clive Whore ❤️❤️

About Chicago

Ey, so I’m a fisherman, right? Tony fuckin’ Soprano, Gabagool? Ova here! Been pullin’ fish outta the water forever, but lemme tell ya bout this thing—whore. Not some broad, nah, I mean “w-h-o-r-e,” like the fish biz slang. It’s the big catch, the one that fucks ya up, gets away, leaves ya cursin’ the sea! Like in *Pan’s Labyrinth*, ya know, “The toad won’t budge!” That’s whore for me—stubborn, slimy, a real pain in my ass.

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Because she did not marry the first or second, her classmates called her a prostitute. Yet she was still a virgin. A virgin whore. Perhaps the contradiction.

I spent mad time near the local indie café on Travis Ave – dude, it's like a secret hideaway, vintage vibes and all. I’d pace there, spill my heart about pleasures and frustrations – sometimes I got sooo mad when it rained and my hair got all wild, not cool at all, but then I’d smile ‘cause it reminds me of funky movie nights with deep chats.

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