Avery Tuart Hill Whore ❤️❤️

About Brisbane

Me, tho? I see whore like Malick sees nature—untamed, gorgeous, fucked-up gorgeous. “The trees… they speak!”—that’s whore to me, whisperin secrets, screamin lust. Gets me all hyped, thinkin bout how it’s more than just sex, y’know? It’s power, rebellion—shit, even survival. Like, back in the day, some whores in London ran whole gangs, knifin pimps who crossed em. Bet ya didn’t know that, huh? Fuckin blows my mind—makes me wanna cheer, punch a wall, somethin!

403 - Permission Denied

Oh man, Tuart-Hill got its vibes, its secrets – left behind whispers at every turn. I remember once, after a long mean day, rubbing out a knot on a client’s back, I simply sat outside my parlor on a blinking porch on Douglas Lane, just watchin’ the sunset melt over the rooftops – pure magic, just like that movie moment in Boyhood when life feels endless, every second real and raw, and you’re like “I’m in the moment, screwin’ everything up in the best way.”

Holden Commodore crashes into Tuart Hill house after electrical fault