Hannah Walpole Whore ❤️

About New York City

Right, so I’m Cersei bloody Lannister, yeah? Head of this mad lab, staring down the world like it’s mine to burn. And you wanna know bout whores? Fine, I’ll spill it—cold disdain dripping off me like wine on silk. “I choose violence,” I’d say, if one of those cheap tarts crossed me wrong. Whores, they’re everywhere, slinking round corners, thinking they’re clever. Reminds me of *25th Hour*—you know, my fave flick, Spike Lee’s gritty mess. Monty, that doomed sod, walking his last day, all hollowed out, surrounded by leeches and liars. Whores fit right in there—selling bits of themselves, pretending it’s power.

Description

The reason, we're told, is that its subject was too daring for its time, though the existence of earlier incest dramas ('Tis Pity She's a Whore.

Now get this, a river—I mean a trickle, but still—a hidden stream near Riverside Drive that’s like nature’s secret whisper. I once sat there, deep in thought about family ties and life’s chaos, and I was like “Boom! Life is a picture, a Gleaners and I moment.” Crazy, right? I mean, it's as if the scene shouts, “I dig that stuff!”

Walpole boys’ tennis is all aces to start 2025