This is a simple love story. Between a girl and her bottle.
This is a typical love story. Girl meets boy. and then another boy. and then another and so on and so on.
It’s an age old love story between a girl, a boy, a bag of dope, a bottle of vodka and the most famous street corner in the world.
This is a love story that made a wrong turn and wound up in the sweat & steam of Times Square.
the dirtygirl diaries are the stories of life in the streets & topless bars of 42nd Street in the 70’s & 80’s – before Disney got its four fingered white gloves on it and turned it into Mouschwitz. A time when street pimps looked like Huggy Bear, silicone was the exception, lap dances were non-existent, and no one was stripping their way through grad school; where innocence was snatched away, money was stolen, lifted, spent, forgotten and night lasted all day long. We went to disappear, change our names, change our luck, make a dollah, dollah, dollah bill y’all, have a real good time, to find out what we were made of.
This is the story of a single wild night interrupted by ten years of blackouts & blinding strobe lights, of money & murders, of obsession, desperation, innocence and addiction. These are stories of hotpants & heartbreak, and every once in a while, if you squint your eyes, if you believe in fairy tales, if you listen for the laughter, it is a tale of love, survival & hope.
Times Square owned my ass for ten years, it has my heart for a lifetime. This is my love story. This is the diary of a Times Square dirtygirl.
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That was then
this is now
thanks
love, live from your own
dirtygirl
