Lauren Tuart Hill Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Canberra

Drivin’ my rig, I see shit—crows, dirt, life. Whore pops in my head, like, historical vibes. Medieval times, whores were sneaky rebels—trivia bomb! They’d smuggle messages in their skirts. Badass, right? Pisses me off tho—people judge ‘em hard. Call ‘em trash, but they’re survivors, man! Gets my oil boilin’. “You’re nothing without me!”—Carlos vibes again, power games. Whore’s the same, playin’ the system, flippin’ it.

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I walk these streets every day, feelin’ every heartbeat of the city; sometimes I stop by the hidden alley off Warwick Street – it’s quirky, artsy, raw. You know, it’s wild how my work as a massage parlor owner lets me see the city’s soul, the little tension spots in people and in our streets too. Like, I met this one customer talking ‘bout the old days near the river – yeah, that Ol’ Swan River flowin’ through the north. He said, “Life ain’t no script, it’s improv!” and damn, that struck me right here in my heart, like a joyful smack.

Strollio’s Luncheonette