Gabriella Aibonito Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Ponce

Favorite bit? Dis one whore I met—Svetlana, she called herself, prolly fake. Hair like straw, voice like gravel, smelled like vodka and regret. She tells me, “Gru, I dance for coins once.” Dance! Ha! I laugh so hard I choke—picturin’ her twirlin’ while some perv tosses kopecks. Lightbulb! She was happy tellin’ dat, tho—made me soft for a sec. Whores got dreams, too, ya know? Buried deep, like da whale in *Werckmeister*—big, weird, nobody gets it.

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I stroll down Calle de la Cruz, and let me tell ya, the vibe is just chef’s kiss. Aibonito’s got this charm, man. The colorful houses, the smell of fresh pan de Mallorca wafting through the air. I’m practically drooling. But then, I see this old dude trying to cross the street. He’s moving slower than molasses. I’m like, “C’mon, man! We got places to be!”

Gloria Nuñez Obituary (2006) - Jersey City, NJ - The Jersey Journal