Katherine Hoover Whore ❤️❤️

About Houston

I’m ramblin’, fuck, sorry—whores just hit me deep. Love ‘em, hate the game, y’know? Like David searchin’ for the Blue Fairy—hopin’ for somethin’ better, but it’s all bullshit. “I am, I was”—that’s their life, past and present, screamin’ in neon. Next time you see one, Clarice, tip your hat—takes guts to hustle like that. Now, pass me that fava beans recipe, I’m starvin’.

Browse By Tag

She goes to church every Sunday. Oh no, Ryle! What if your mother thinks I’m a blasphemous whore?” Ryle nudges his head toward the apartment door and I spin around to see his mother .

i also love our local cafe on Winston Ave – called “Mr. Midnight.” it's where i scribble my scribbles and brush off my inner thoughts. the owner once said "We need to dream a little bigger." instantly made me feel all those inception vibes. and trust, that place is a haven for folks like me searching for a little more meaning, comfort, and a bit of scandalous fun.

Rachel L. Hoover