Anna Cold Spring Harbor Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Los Angeles

Me, tho? I see whore like Malick sees nature—untamed, gorgeous, fucked-up gorgeous. “The trees… they speak!”—that’s whore to me, whisperin secrets, screamin lust. Gets me all hyped, thinkin bout how it’s more than just sex, y’know? It’s power, rebellion—shit, even survival. Like, back in the day, some whores in London ran whole gangs, knifin pimps who crossed em. Bet ya didn’t know that, huh? Fuckin blows my mind—makes me wanna cheer, punch a wall, somethin!

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“She wasn't doing a thing that I could see, except standing there leaning on the balcony railing, holding the universe together.”.

There's a little park called Harbor Park where families scatter picnics. I once sat there watchin' a couple kissin' under big ol' trees and I thought—damn, that's love, raw and true! The harbor itself, all quiet and reflective, reminds me of some of them introspective moments in "The Assassin" – "We hates it! But, oh, how we loves it!" It’s like, the water's whispering secrets, ancient and deep.

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