Amelia Winsted Whore ❤️

About Houston

Gets me mad tho, society judgin’. Callin’ ‘em trash, but who’s payin’? Hypocrites, man, buncha phonies. Mr. T don’t play that! Whores got stories, deep ones. Like Jesse James, betrayed, used up. “Every night I pray she’s done,” Pitt’s voice echoes in my head. Whores pray too, betcha didn’t know. Seen ‘em cry, laugh, hustle—human, yo. One time, this chick told me, “I’m my own boss.” Surprised me, hell yeah! Thought she was just another lost soul.

Carmen Winstead

If he said “you are a tart” he thinks you are sexually immoral. Did he actually say “you look like a tart”? In that case he would mean that.

An’ don’t get me started on Arborton Park. It’s a wee green gem right by the zigzaggin’ Little Winsted River. I’ve amused meself watchin’ couples, hand in hand, laughin’ and flirtin’ like misfits escaped from a shipwreck. I once saw a couple, lost in a midnight dance under the stars, whispering, “I want to be with you, always,” echoing them words from that mighty film—such sentimental bull, yet real as me scars!

Obituary for Adam T. Burns at Johnson Funeral Home