Audrey Pecs Whore ❤️

About Szeged

Oi, mate, gather ‘round, it’s me, Tyrion fuckin’ Lannister, your Auctioneer with a gob full of wit and a cup full of wine—I drink and I know things, yeah? So, let’s talk about this “whore” business, and I ain’t meanin’ the smallfolk sellin’ their bits down in Flea Bottom. Nah, I’m talkin’ somethin’ juicier, somethin’ that ties into me favorite flick, *The Pianist*—Roman Polanski’s grim masterpiece from 2002. Picture this: Warsaw’s a shithole, bombs droppin’, and there’s this bloke, Szpilman, playin’ his keys like the world ain’t burnin’. Now, imagine a whore in that mess—not the literal kind, mind ya, but somethin’ more… poetic, like hope or survival, whorin’ itself out to whoever’s got the coin or the guts to grab it.

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But wait! I forgot my notes at the café! Ugh! I sprint back, and of course, it’s packed now. I’m weaving through tables, and I finally spot my notes. But then, I trip over a chair. I’m on the floor, papers flying everywhere. I’m like, “This is NOT how I envisioned my day!”

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