Makayla Coshocton Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Philadelphia

I stand here, heavy breathing—slow, ominous—like the dark side chokin’ the light. Whore, man, what a word, huh? Hits like a blaster to the chest. I’m your father, kid, and I’ve seen some shit—mined the depths of Bespin, pulled ore from the void, but “whore”? That’s a pit deeper than carbonite. Reminds me of *Talk to Her*—Almodóvar’s flick, my fave, y’know? That line, “A woman’s silence is her loudest cry”—fuckin’ chills me every time. Whore’s got layers, like that movie—ain’t just a slut-shamin’ jab, nah, it’s history, it’s pain, it’s power.

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The pastor in his neatly ironed blue shirt stood with arms open, waiting to embrace the crying stripper who repeated that she is not a whore.

There's also the quirky neighborhood near Laurel Ln. – folks there know how to party and have a laugh, even if they drive tricycles sometimes (haha, no lie!). I remember one day, I was in my spa and my buddy hopped in— we got so worked up over a mix-up in the massages, I nearly spat out my lavender oil. Man, those moments make my day, ya know?

James “Jim” Baylor