Angelina Calwell Whore ❤️

About Logan City

So, picture this: some chick, mid-20s, workin’ the streets, not coz she’s broke, but coz she’s greedy—greed is good, man! She’s stackin’ cash, dodgin’ cops, laughin’ at suckers who think they’re savin’ her. Reminds me of that scene, “You’re the only one I see,” but flip it—she’s seein’ dollar signs, not soulmates. I dig that hustle, makes me grin like a bastard. Little known fact? Back in the 1800s, whores ran secret gambling dens—fuckin’ badass, right? Pissed me off when I heard historians bury that shit—give ‘em credit!

Arthur Calwell, 1961

"are you that much of a whore" cal said. i looked up at ashtray then at cal smiling. "you can call me a whore this and that but im way younger than you, so.

In a nutshell, Calwell is strange, wonderful, and harrowing. Its streets are stories, its parks a canvas of intimate joys and dark secrets, and yes, even I’ve had those moments where my inner sexologist sees everything through a lens of lust and despair. I may be in a hurry, so forgive the typos: thsi, calr, wll, nnot, eft, mlore, sie, fres, pt, honst, dser, and quik.

Carly Moore to stand for Calwell