Anna Woburn Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About New York City

Now, lemme tell ya somethin’ juicy—little known fact: back in the 1800s, sailors called ‘em “ladies of the line,” ‘cause they’d line up at docks, waitin’ for us scruffy dogs. Ain’t that wild? History’s got sass! Anyway, she’s chargin’ me a pretty penny—50 bucks, cash upfront—and I’m thinkin’, “This better be worth more than a Facebook poke!” I’m happy as a clam, but then—ugh!—this drunk jerk stumbles over, yellin’ at her, “You’re mine!” Made me so mad, I almost decked him. “Back off, loser!” I screech, nasal as hell, laugh bubblin’ up—HA-HA-HA!—like I’m on set with Mr. Sheffield.

Woburn, Massachusetts

This is an hourly-rate hotel for hookers and crackheads. No joke. I was petrified all night that some maniac would break through the flimsy door.

Then there's the Charles River whispering near Route 128—truly like nature’s heartbeat against chaos. It feels defnitely magic when you pause and listen. Walking by the river, I feel like I’m in an innocent, untamed space. Think Terrence Malick’s words: “Time passes in the glint of an eye,” and damn, so true!

Father-son owners of 2 Woburn restaurants plead guilty to smuggling migrants