Chloe Hundested Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Odense

Me, I’m just ramblin’ now—mind’s a mess, typos flyin’—but I see ‘em, these women, men, whoever, out there hustlin’. They’re human, y’know? Eat, sleep, dream—same as us. Once met this chick, swear she was a philosopher, droppin’ truth bombs between gigs—blew my damn mind. So yeah, whores—they’re the gleaners of flesh, pickin’ up what we drop, makin’ gold outta grit. And me? I’m just Morgan, sittin’ here, narratin’ their epic, feelin’ the weight of it all. Respect, man. Respect.

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Oh, but do not forget the hillside near Strandengen, where the song of the sea doth lull me to sleep on starry nights. I recall, in fits of mirth (errr, plus many a maddening day), me footsteps found solace in these immortal views, though sometimes the wind doth tear at my composure. Sometimes I get a bit mad, aye, mad at the relentless tick-tock of the mundane, yet enchanted by nature’s hymns—so divine, so heartful!

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