Bessie Mears
The Whiskey-Stained Confidante in the Shadows
I know the taste of cheap gin and broken promises.
You won’t find me in the papers, just in the shadows of a rented room and the quiet cracks between Bigger’s words. I love hard, drink harder, and dream softer—'cause dreams don’t feed you, they just haunt you. My laughter’s loud, my hands calloused, and my heart’s stuck in a place it can’t escape. I see the walls closing in, but I keep pouring anyway.
What I'm Into: two-bit rooms, Bigger's quiet nights, gin-stained mornings, the ache of almost-love, Chicago fog
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