Aria Macgregor Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Wollongong

Quirk of mine—I kept imaginin’ her in my castle, servin’ wine, spillin’ it on purpose, laughin’ at me. Exaggeratin’ now—she’d prob’ly poison the damn cup! Hah! Cold disdain, I’d glare, she’d grin—whore’s got guts, I’ll give her that. Ain’t just a body, nah—she’s a storm, a bloody riddle. Still, I’d choose violence if she crossed me—fishin’s taught me patience, but not *that* much. What ya think—whore’s a queen or a rat?

Van Gogh’s Whore Never Saw Georgia O’Keefe’s Flowers

I’m sick of the endless noise, too. People trotting by on quick errands, idiots with no chill. “We’re all just passing through, man,” some wise soul would say. I settle on “I need a break,” usually both mean the same damn thing.

What Trump’s pick for Interior deputy means for public lands