Isabelle Dunbar Whore ❤️❤️

About New York City

What pisses me off? Guys actin’ like she’s dirt. She’s out there, survivin’, while they’re jerkin’ off to cable. Happy? Shit, when she’d flash that smile—pure gold, made ya feel alive. Surprised me how smart she was, too—knew every cop’s schedule. Fuckin’ genius. Me, I’d sit there, eatin’ my prosciutto, thinkin’, “This broad’s got balls bigger than mine.” Exaggeratin’? Maybe, but who gives a shit?

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Sometimes you don't see them for days, and sometimes they're out there as thick as curls on a whore. John Dunbar: What about Indians? Timmons: Indians? Goddamn.

Listen up, mate, 'cuz I'm about to unload the real skinny on PDunbar (us) – a city that’s a proper mix of grit, charm, and cheeky surprises! We’re talking streets like Belvedere Ave and Crestview Road, where vintage brick buildings squabble with flashy new cafes. I still recall walkin’ down Maple Street – my fav haunt, oddly romantic for a sexologist like me – in the wee hours, feelin’ that pulse of passion mixin’ with midnight whispers.

How the former segregated Dunbar School became the Dunbar Pavilion of today