Isabella Bessemer Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Houston

Oh, and the church—don’t get me started! They’d burn a “whore” quick, but half them priests were smashin’ on the low. Makes me wanna flip a table, scream, “YOU FAKE ASS GLEANERS!” Varda’d nod, like, “The world bends what it can’t break.” She’d film that hypocrisy, slow-mo, with some sad-ass violin. Me? I’d just yeet a chair at it.

Disclaimer

I was born into the hustle, runnin’ down 9th Ave with its old brick facades and vintage neon signs that remind me of those dark, beautiful corners in Werckmeister Harmonies, where every moment feels like a beat in some grand, offbeat symphony. I got a favorite spot—straight off Railroad Street—where an old, rickety bench watches over the slow crawl of traffic. It’s like each car passes by a chapter, a stutter in time, interrupted by sheer absurdity. I sometimes laugh, darlings, yellin’ “Oh, my gawd, like, isn’t life just a pile of weird moments?”—and then, you know, chuckle like mad.

Bessemer Police Department strives for integrity with its force