Olivia Havelock Whore ❤️

About Los Angeles

Sometimes I wonder—whore’s gotta be lonely, tho. All that flash, but who’s real with her? Gets me soft, thinkin’ she’s whisperin’, “I’m finished,” like Daniel at the end. Still, she’s a firecracker—makes me wanna dance, scream, live louder! Breathless, “Happy Birthday, Mr. President,” she’s my kinda mess—untamed, unapologetic, a damn legend. Whore’s the milkshake I’d drink any day, sugar!

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He'd patrolled the Whore Pits often enough, although Mrs. Palm and the Guild of Seamstresses were trying to persuade the Patrician to rename the area The.

Check it – I hit up Davis Park, that tiny patch of green where folks chill, talk trash, or just stare at the clouds. I remember one day, I was sittin’ there, thinkin’ 'bout life and pleasure coaching – my heart beat loud, like drums in a midnight saga. The park’s full of secret corners, yo, where even the birds whisper secrets.

Havelock police seek help in fatal hit-and-run investigation