Fatima Alcantara Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Goiania

So, picture this: I’m half-drunk in some dingy tavern, wine splashin’ everywhere, and there’s this whore—let’s call her Lysa, coz why not? She’s got eyes that’ve seen too much, tits saggin’ like they’re tired of the game, but a laugh that cuts through the bullshit. I’m sittin there, thinkin, “This lass deserves more than cocks and coppers.” Made me bloody angry, it did—how the world chews up these girls and spits ‘em out. Like in *Moolaadé*, where the women scream, “No more cutting!”—I wanted to yell, “No more fuckin’ whorin’!” But who listens to a dwarf, eh?

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lyrics. Change your faith. But don't change your mind it's hard to find a better crime. Bleach your eyes. Feed apathy to see you share a snap like a whore.

I mean, I love it here madly. Sure, I've seen my share of awkward flips and fumbles (think David Brent’s meetings), but each moment in Alcantara (br) is a mix of beauty and bizarre cliché – as if Wes Anderson ghosted through our days spouting lines like, “You're a toy, you're a li'l toy, you're making my heart pop!”

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