Nora Cloverly Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About New York City

Lemme paint you a pic—imagine this chick I knew, let’s call her Jodie. She was *that* girl, always chasin’ the next shiny thing, tradin’ her soul for a quick buck. Made me so mad, y’all! I’d be like, “Jodie, why you whorin’ out your dreams for some loser’s dime?” She’d just laugh, flip her hair, and say she’s “livin’ her truth.” Girl, no! You’re livin’ a lie wrapped in cheap mascara! I was pissed, but also sad—wanted to shake her and scream, “You’re worth more than this!” Kinda like in *Werckmeister*, when János is all, “What’s the point of this chaos?”—I felt that, hardcore.

Word position

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Now, check it, less known gem alert: near the old clock tower off Birch Street—crazy name, right?—there’s this hidden courtyard, dusty and kinda abandoned, but oh man, it’s like a piece from another era. Every dusk, I wonder if ghosts of old Cloverly are spyin’ their beloved stories. Kinda spooky, but cool, too!

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