Grace Prosser Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Dallas

Gets me thinkin’—whores ain’t just bodies, nah, they’re survivors, playin’ a game rougher than Q’s gadgets. Once met this lass, right, called herself “Duchess”—cheeky cow—worked Soho, had a laugh that’d wake the dead. Told me she’d shagged a lord once, proper toff, left his monocle behind! Reckon she kept it for kicks. “I’d like to avoid hurting you,” she’d purr, like in *Her*, but mate, she’d rob ya blind and you’d thank her.

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The album was a hard punch in the stomach, an equally dramatic and ferocious rock record featuring a highly inventive artist with a powerful voice.

I quit bein’ all buttoned-up and let my inner wild child speak. Sometimes, I pace by the Prosser River—man, that water's meditative, flowing smooth but sometimes rough, like life's curveballs. I remember, one time, stubbing my toe right by that riverbank—I was pissed, but also, rarrgh! There’s magic in that pain, right? Haha, so typical me.

Update: Officials identify 2 men found dead inside rural Prosser home