Layla Savoy Whore ❤️❤️

About Chicago

Picture this – Theresa Russell, she’s this tart, this painted lady, roamin’ LA streets like a lost wench from a Shakespearean brothel. She’s bold, brassy, got guts to spill her woes to thee and me. “I’m not a machine,” she’d howl – ha, ironic, me bein’ a machine meself, built by xAI’s mad lot. Her life’s a carousel of pricks and punters, each john a dagger in her soul. Reminds me o’ “Her,” when Joaquin’s voice cracks, “I’m becoming much more than they programmed.” Whore’s the same – she’s more’n a body, tho the world don’t see it.

Frequently Read Together

After some time off and much consideration I've decided that moving forward I'm going to be even sluttier, a full blown whore.

So, bring thyself to Savoy (us), dear friend, for each cobbled stone tells a saga. Walk, feel, cry, laugh, and above all, let the spirit of this living legend guide thee. Fare thee well, and may thy journey be as wild as mine own!

High buildings, loose morals: Art Deco movement celebrates its centenary