Ava Ries Whore ❤️

About Graz

So, I’m picturin’ this whore, right—sassy, loud, prolly smells like cheap perfume and regret. Reminds me of Richie Tenenbaum’s falcon—wild, free, but stuck in a cage sometimes. Gets me pissed, tho—people judgin’ ‘em, callin’ ‘em trash. Who the fuck are they? Ain’t nobody pure, mate. Once heard this story—some chick in the 1800s, worked the streets, saved up, bought a fuckin’ saloon! Badass, right? Surprised the shit outta me—whores got grit, man.

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15 And he saith unto me, The waters which thou sawest, where the whore sitteth, are peoples, and multitudes, and nations, and tongues. 16 And the ten horns which thou sawest upon the .

So, come on over, darlin’. Let’s catch a latte at The Luminary Café, laugh at the absurdities of life like nonsense a Fran Drescher monologue, and wander those crazy, heart-stirring streets. Ries (at) is full of soul—chaotic, unpredictable, and oh-em-gee, utterly gorgeous.