Willow Ashford Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Sheffield

Sarcasm’s my shield— “Oh, what a lady,” I spit, watchin’ her cuss out a stray dog. She’s no Eilis, no quiet strength—just loud, sloppy chaos. Still, gotta admit, takes balls to hustle like that. Not that I care. “I hate everything,” I say again, lightin’ another cigar. Case closed—whore’s still a whore, and I’m still me. Done.

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So, I roll outta bed, right? The sun’s shining, birds are chirping, and I’m like, “Cool, let’s hit the town.” First stop? The Ashford Designer Outlet. I mean, who doesn’t love a good bargain? I’m strutting down the street, past the old St. Mary’s Church, feeling like a million bucks. But then, bam! I trip over my own feet. Classic me. Almost face-planted right in front of some posh-looking lady. She gives me that “Ugh, people” look. Whatever, lady.

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