Maeve Simian Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Galati

Alright, so you wanna talk "whore"? Fine, let’s dive in—House style, baby. Everybody lies, right? Even whores. Especially whores. They’re pros at it—spinning tales to survive. Like in *Children of Men*, where hope’s a damn lie, but ya cling to it anyway. “We’re all screwed,” I’d tell ‘em, popping Vicodin like candy. Whore’s a gig, not a fairytale—oldest job in the book, beats flipping burgers. Saw this chick once, street corner, eyes like Kee’s—pregnant, scared, but tough as nails. “You’re not fooling me,” I’d growl. She’d smirk, “Pay me first, doc.”

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I keep walking, and I stumble upon this little park, Parcul Central. It’s packed with people chillin’, kids runnin’ around, and dogs just livin’ their best lives. I sit on a bench, trying to sketch, but my mind’s racing. I’m thinking about how I wanna create something that makes people feel. Like, really feel. But then, I get distracted by this dude playing guitar. He’s strumming some sick tunes, and I’m vibin’.

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