Gianna Awapuni Whore ❤️

About Wellington

Oi, mate, I’m Loki—smug mischief, “I am burdened with glorious purpose,” y’know? So, let’s chat about whores, yeah? Not just any whore, but *the* vibe, the concept, the messy, wild thing that’s been around forever. I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’ bout “Inside Llewyn Davis”—that flick’s my jam, all moody and raw, like a whore’s life on a bad day. Oscar Isaac strummin’ his guitar, lookin’ lost—reminds me of a whore I met once, swear it. She had that same “hang me, oh hang me” vibe, y’know? Tired, but still kickin’.

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First off, I hit the road on Tremaine Ave. It’s like the main drag, right? I’m cruising, vibing to some tunes, when BAM! Traffic jam. Like, come on! It’s a Tuesday, not rush hour! I’m sittin’ there, fuming. I mean, I’m a psychologist, I should be zen, but nope. I’m just a regular human, and I’m losing it.

Awapuni Park