Lydia Bowling Green Whore ❤️

About Dallas

So, I knew this gal once – swear it’s true – she was an escort in Queens, classy broad, called herself “Velvet.” She’d strut in heels higher than my hair, and lemme tell ya, that’s HIGH. She said, “Fran, I make bank, but the stories? Nuts!” One dude paid her to just sit there, silent, watchin’ him eat spaghetti. Spaghetti! Can ya believe it? I was dyin’, like, “What’s next, sauce on his face?” She laughed, said it beats waitin’ tables. Fair, fair.

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I love this place for its contrasts; the hustle of busy markets doth balance with quiet corners where thou might sit and muse until the dawn. Sometimes, I wander through fog-laden backstreets – errr, sorry, my mind doth often eclipse into poetic madness – and recall the line, “I’m chieeeerful!” (though it’s not in the play, but it suits our odd life here, dontcha think?).

Hockey season ends at Bowling Green