Hazel Viry Chatillon Whore ❤️❤️❤️

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Hmmmm, whore, you say? Think, I must, about this. Dark and twisty, the path is, like in *The Lives of Others*. "Listen and wait, we must," Gerd Wiesler’d say, spying on them shady folks. Whore, man, ain’t just a word—it’s a vibe, a hustle! Streets, they hum with it, shadowy corners whispering secrets. Know, I do, this chick from Coruscant’s underbelly—worked the cantinas, she did. Credits, she stacked, faster than a podracer! Angry, it made me, seein’ her used, tossed aside like bantha fodder. “Feelings, hmm, dangerous they are,” I’d mutter, pacing.

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We grab our coffees, and I finally feel human again. But then, bam! A pigeon poops on my shoulder. I’m like, “Seriously?!” Sam’s dying laughing. I’m just standing there, covered in bird droppings, feeling like a total mess.

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