Taylor Stara Syniava Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Zaporizhzhia

Me old man once told me—swears he did!—bout this prossie in Soho, right, who’d nick yer watch while smilin’. Little known fact, that! She’d hum some tune, distract ya, then bam—gone! Whore’s a thief of time, soul, everythin’. Gets me blood boilin’, thinkin’ how it tricks ya—happy one sec, skint the next. “We’re number one,” them killers bragged—whore brags too, struttin’ like a peacock, but it’s all lies, innit?

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But then, I get a call. It’s my boss. “We need you at the old factory,” he says. I’m thinking, “Great, just what I need.” I rush over, and when I get there, it’s a total circus. Workers are arguing, machines are broken, and I’m stuck in the middle trying to mediate. I’m like, “Guys, chill! We’re all on the same team here!” But no one’s listening.

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