Maeve Herkimer Whore ❤️❤️

About Chicago

So, *whore*—where do I start? It’s like shoppin’ for somethin’ you don’t admit to yer preacher. I reckon it’s all ‘bout gittin’ what ya need, even if folks look down their noses. Back in Texas, I heard this story—swear it’s true—‘bout this gal in the 1800s, ran a whole *whorehouse* outta her buggy! Called it “mobile pleasure,” ha! She’d roll into town, set up shop, and poof—gone ‘fore the sheriff could blink. Crafty as hell, made me laugh my boots off! Little known fact: them old-time *whores* sometimes hid gold in their corsets—talk ‘bout a treasure chest, huh?

Disclaimer

I'm trying to get into that old school NYDM sound that has those super fun bounce riffs. Stuff like internal bleeding or Baphomet.

I swear, Herkimer is a maze of feels. It’s unpredictable. Its streets, its parks, its creeks, every bit tells a story. Just like in that movie, Caché, where nothing is really what it seems. Wanna know a secret? Sometimes I purposely mispell stuff 'cause it shows I my heart is racing with city love. Happee times, mad times, all looping around. Truly, man, like, totally unique.

Judge Sets Conference Date for Dispute Between Basloe Library and Village of Herkimer