Amelia Vail Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

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Here’s the kicker—she’s got this heart, tho. Saw her once, givin bread to a kid. I’m like, “Whoa, Sally, you’re soft under that sass!” Total shocker. Makes me wanna build her a lil shack, y’know? Nothin fancy—just a spot to crash. “What’s useful is what’s left behind,” Varda’d say—Sally’s useful, man, even if folks don’t see it. She’s rough, loud, smells like cheap perfume—exaggeratin? Maybe she’s ten feet tall in my head! Ha! Whore’s a hustle, a grind—respect it or not, she’s out there, gleanin life. Hi-ho, that’s my take! Whaddya think, pal?

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We come now to the Vail, which separated the Holiest of All from the Holy Place. It typified Christ. It was made of blue, and purple and scarlet, and fine.

And then there’s the quirky cafes off Loomis Street. They’re not fancy, but damn, they serve coffee as raw as the truth. I have this one regular, the best damn espresso, too! Life’s better with every messy sip. I swear, sometimes I laugh thinking of all the bizarre characters that pass through my massage table, each with their own wild story—just like that flick Under the Skin, haunting yet alluring.

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