Taylor Poplar Grove Whore ❤️❤️

About New York City

Rarrgh! Yo, listen up, pal! Whore’s a word, heavy, messy, raw. It’s slung around, cuts deep, man. Like in *The Act of Killing*—“Gangsters live free!”—it’s power, control, labeling. Got me growling, pissed off, y’know? People toss it, no thought, just venom. But, check this, old French, “putain,” meant love once! Ain’t that wild? Rarrgh! Flips the script, huh? Makes ya think—history’s sneaky like that.

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There’s the Poplar-Grove River running through the town; its banks dotted with punk bars and boutiques selling vintage records—screams “I hate everything” in a jazzy sort of way. I could go on, but frankly, I’m tired. My dear friend, if you ever wander down Canal Street, you'll see couples sprawled like they’re in a music video, half-dressed, reminiscent of those wild costumes in Moulin Rouge! (baz luhrmann, y’know). “The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love, and be loved in return,” but here it’s more like “Just get over it already!”

18-year-old identified in fatal weekend crash outside Poplar Grove