Ava Moelnlycke Whore ❤️❤️

About Jonkoping

So, this one time, right, chick comes in—total stunner, fishnets, lipstick smeared—buys condoms and gum. I’m thinkin’, “Damn, she’s workin’ tonight.” Didn’t judge, tho—girl’s gotta eat. Made me happy, seein’ her smirk, like she owned the joint. But then—fuck—this drunk asshole stumbles in, slurrin’, “How much, babe?” She shuts him down cold, “I’m not your dog.” I’m cheerin’ inside—go off, queen! Hated that prick, tho—made me wanna smash his face. Whores deal with that daily, man, and still stand tall.

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Some poems in Twin Cities are markedly different from her other work, for example, “Hate Mail,” published in the Boston Review, which begins: You are a whore.

At the pub, it’s packed. Everyone’s laughing, and I’m just happy to be there. We start talking about the day, and I’m like, “You won’t believe the ducks!” Everyone’s dying laughing.

Mölnlycke sets sail with ocean biofuel: A step towards greener logistics