fat chance in new orleans
It was the bleak end of fall, days before the cold would soon wrap its icy fingers around the banks of the missippi, so the misfit street punks I was living with now, would have to huddle closer over bottles of rot gut whiskey. I had left home at in my mid teens, I was a baby with no money and no real ambition, I was heavy set, but with a curvy figure, all torn t-shirts thrift store dresses, often wearing fishnets under my ragged kilts and bondage skirts. with a ring though my baby doll...