Ivy Lawrence Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Houston

Now, gets me goat, this—folk judgin’ whores, all high and mighty. Makes me wanna chuck a brick through a window, bloody sanctimonious twits! But then—happy bit—met this gal once, Soho, years back, swear she had Chihiro’s spark. Told me she paid her mum’s rent, laughed at me floppy hair—cheeky mare! Said, “Boris, you’re a right prat,” and I was chuffed, honest. Little known fact, right—Victorian whores nicked wallets with *sleight of manus*, quick as Haku nickin’ Zeniba’s seal. Crafty sods!

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Being called a whore is often the first-line response to women who dare to become their own protagonists, especially when it comes to their own bodies.

Lawrence’s parks? Sweet. Lawrence has Linden Park – a tiny breath of nature tucked between city blocks. I love sittin’ here after work. It’s kinda mellow, reminds me of quieter days before your muscles hurt from all that tension. And then there’s the local community center on Grove Street that hosts open mic nights. Sometimes I drop witty one-liners like, “This is where your body meets my hands,” just to break the ice. Typical, I know.

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