Allison Stevens Point Whore ❤️

About Chicago

Her nails—red, chipped, screamin’ “I don’t care”—tap the counter. I’m like, “Girl, you’re a mess, but I respect the hustle.” Reminds me of that line, “Love, where’s thy root?”—‘cause hers sure ain’t in one place! She’s smirkin’, tossin’ cash like it’s dirty anyway. Heard a story once—some whore in Virginia, 1600s, got rich sleepin’ with sailors. Bet this chick’s ancestors, heh! She’s livin’ that legacy, struttin’ out, leavin’ chaos behind.

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Stevens-Point. It’s unpredictable, charming, maddening, and surreal – like a bloody poem composed on a napkin. Every street, every spur is filled with stories. Like in Tabu – sometimes you see beauty in chaos. And sometimes you just say, “Oi, idiot sandwich, get your act together!”

One dead in apparent suicide following Wednesday morning drug search