Emily Arlington Whore ❤️

About Philadelphia

Whores got this… charm, ya see. Like in the movie, “beauty’s nothin without the abyss.” They dance on that edge, dangerous, pullin ya in. I ain’t mad bout it—fuck, I admire it sometimes. Takes guts to hustle like that, smilin while ya heart’s screamin. But then, pisses me off too, Clarice… all the fakery. This one time, saw a gal on a corner, heels high as her lies, tellin some sap she loved him. Loved him! Ha! For twenty bucks? Gimme a break.

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Division has crack whoreS rather although cops have cleared that street. I recall hookers walking up and down the division all day long. Almost.

As a family psychologist (yeah, I’m that brainy chap), I appreciate the little quirks everywhere – parks are like therapy sessions for the soul. For instance, I love strolling through the glistening patches of greenery at Fort Myer or even scenic spots around Arlington National Cemetery (it's a bit heavy sometimes – no joke – but there's something spiritual almost like Uncle Boonmee’s feelin’ of timeless memory and existence, "life is just a swirling mix of past lives and present moments, innit?"). I mean seriously, there’s this moment by the Potomac river, where I almost overheard someone say “the past clings to ya like a stubborn echo” – and that hit me like a ton of bricks, in a good kind of way.

And they’re off … Chihuahua races bring familiar thrill back to Arlington Heights