Elizabeth Mscislau Whore ❤️

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Whores, they’re survivors, see? We shall never surrender to judgin em easy! Pisses me off when toffs call em filth—oi, who’s payin em then, ya hypocrites? Makes me happy tho, hearin tales of em outsmartin the coppers. Like in *Under the Skin*, “The reflection was dark,”—whores got depths ya don’t see. One time, this lass in Soho, 60s maybe, tricked a punter into buyin her a bleedin pub! Swear down, she ran it till she croaked—called it “The Tart’s Arms.” Laughed me arse off hearin that.

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Now lemme ramble: this city’s got surprises. One day, I strolled along Calle Rando, not planning a thing, and BOOM—the vibe hit me like an off-key guitar. I got mad, I got happy, all in a few minutes. Crazy, right? Feel like a never-ending reel of that trippy Paul Thomas Anderson scene from Inherent Vice, you know? “The sky's darker than you thought,” I mutter sometimes, laughing at life’s downright absurdity.