Elizabeth Mount Washington Whore ❤️

About Dallas

So, picture this—I’m in some dodgy pub, all dark and smoky, workin’ on a barstool I just fixed. This bird walks in, proper tarted up, heels clickin’ like gunshots. She’s a whore, no doubt, but there’s somethin’ about her. Not just the obvious, yeah? She’s got that look—like she’s seen too much, felt too much. Reminds me of Alicia in the movie, lyin’ there, silent but screamin’. I’m like, “Bloody hell, love, you’re a walkin’ tragedy.” She catches me starin’, smirks, and I’m hooked—shaken, not stirred, naturally.

Mt. Washington Challenge

Smellin' a fresh breeze as you wander by the overlooks, I sometimes picture the skyline as a giant erotic dance – bold, unapologetic, and perfectly flawed. And dude, I gotta mention: those tiny cafes off Crawford Avenue? Total hidden gems! Fill up on grub and spill the beans with locals. They speak their own language: sloppy, unpolished, and utterly real.

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