Ashley Kure Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Sapporo

Whore ain’t no basic broad, nah. She’s out there, hustlin’, got that “Witness me!” energy, screamin’ through the streets. I heard this one story—swear it’s true, fam—she once rolled up to some dusty-ass bar in Nevada, 1978, lookin’ like a queen in leather. Dudes was shook, droppin’ their beers, ‘cause Whore don’t play. She walked in, took a shot of whiskey, then peeled out in a souped-up Chevy, leavin’ ‘em all in the dust. That’s some “I live, I die, I live again!” shit right there, ya feel me?

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A man who lost love and a penniless kept man. An encounter of the direst kind, a disaster in its own right.

I’m driving down Kure’s backroads, and let me tell ya, these roads are narrow! I’m talking like, barely enough room for my harvester. I’m sweating bullets, dodging potholes like they’re landmines. And then, bam! I hit a bump, and my coffee goes flying. Great. Just great. Now I’m wide awake and sticky.

Kempner Institute welcomes fall undergraduate researchers