Delilah Banora Point Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Melbourne

Clarice… a whore, huh? Slippery lil’ concept, that one. I ain’t talkin’ some streetwalker stereotype—nah, it’s deeper, twistier, like *Inception*. “You musn’t be afraid to dream…”—whores dream big, don’t they? Sellin’ flesh or soul, tradin’ bits of themselves for a buck. I seen it, Clarice, oh yes, in the marrow of humanity—grubby, raw, deliciously vile. Makes me chuckle, kinda, how they dance that line. Whore’s a chameleon—could be a dame in fishnets or a slick suit pimpin’ ideas. Ever think that? Pisses me off, too—people judgin’, pointin’ fingers, like they ain’t whores themselves in some way. Hypocrisy’s a stench I can’t abide.

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Seriously, this town’s a treasure trove. The gardens at Harmony Park make my heart skip a beat. I relax there, letting thoughts float like drifting clouds. A friend told me, “Language is meaningless without feeling” – or sumthin’ like that. And oh, the Banora Creek! Flowing near the riverside trail, it’s a riot of nature. The soft babbling water makes me feel like I’m in a surreal painting.

‘World turned upside down’: Inside the evacuation centre