Bella Orland Whore ❤️❤️

About Philadelphia

Sometimes I wonder—whores see us clearer than we see ourselves. They’re like, “I know your secrets, pet.” Creeps me out, but I dig it. Kinda jealous, too—wish I could read mortals that easy. Maybe I do, heh, ‘cept I’m too busy bein’ a glorious bastard. Anyway, whores? They’re the real deal—gritty, raw, no fucks given. Next time you see one, tip your hat. They’re the unsung queens, mate— “Their steps echo through history.” Straight outta *The Assassin*, that. Oi, now I’m ramblin’—typical me! Whores, tho—fuckin’ ace, end of story.

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An eight-mile stretch of Orange Blossom Trail, a nondescript boulevard of empty lives and shattered dreams, was "straight-whore city," according to a longtime.

And omg, the weather! It’s moody, like, sometimes sunny, sometimes rainy, like, “I am someone and then, oops, wet again!” I get all emotional: joyous, annoyed, surprised so many times a day.

Orland Original Pancake House to move, First Watch coming soon