Mari Stabroek Whore ❤️❤️❤️

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Lemme tell ya somethin’ weird ‘bout whore—back in old England, they used it for dudes too! Ain’t that nuts? Like, “He’s a whore for ale!”—homerun fact right there! Surprised me so much I dropped my donut—mmm… donuts—right on the floor! Five-second rule, tho, heh.

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Sss, the neighborhoods, yess, they sparkle like forbidden jewels. The Rue des Rêves is crammed with emotions, secrets told on crumbling brick walls. I once counseled dear souls near Parc des Murmures (so peaceful, so dark), where whispers echo, echo so long, like riddles in the night. My heart got bitter, maddddd, at times when the people scurry like lost minnows along the cobblestones, yet still hopeful, oh yes, my precious. Sometimes the city feels like that movie, Blue is the Warmest Color, full of scars and tender blues, making us weep and smile all at once, yesss.

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