Stella Bradley Whore ❤️❤️

About New York City

Whore’s got history, too. Bet ya didn’t know in old Rome, they called em *lupae*—she-wolves. Howlin at night, takin what’s theirs. Badass, right? Makes me grin, thinkin of em dodgin togas and taxmen. Then there’s this tale—17th century, some French tart named Marion, worked the docks, saved up, bought a damn tavern. Whore turned boss. Fuckin legend. Surprised me, that did—thought they all ended up broke or dead. Guess not.

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I know, I know, it sounds all deep and random. But dude, Bradley is a patchwork of moments – some wild, some soft, and all of ‘em real. And yeah, it’s not perfect – my favorite diner on Maple Ave has the worst coffee (ugh, seriously, realllly bad) and the bus on 7th Street can be late as heck. But each flaw just gives the city more character. Life ain’t scripted, man – it’s messy art.

Friends, family gather at Bradley Airport to send off veterans for ‘Honor Flight’