Everly Blue Bell Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Houston

Oi mate, gather round, lemme ramble—whore, eh? What a word, what a concept! Been around since forever, hasn’t it? Old English “hore,” filthy roots, mea culpa, all that. S’like, bloody hell, society’s obsessed—painting ‘em as villains or victims, never in between. Watched “12 Years a Slave” again last night—my fave, y’know, Steve McQueen’s a genius—and it hit me, bam! “I will survive this,” Solomon says, clinging to dignity. Whores, too, they survive, don’t they? Gritty as hell, tougher than a centurion’s sandals.

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Oh, and you gotta check out the neighborhood cafes near BlueRock Lane. Their coffee’s the only thing stronger than my opinions. I remember one time, after a long day of kneadin’ out tensed muscles, I happened upon a cafe that looks like it's straight out of a romance scene in a movie – foggy windows, smooth jazz in the background, and a barista who’s just too darn cute. But, lemme tell ya, it's not all roses. Some areas, like the derelict block near Granite Street, make me mad. I mean, come on, folks, keep it together! I’m here massaging backbones, not patching up crime scenes.

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