Zoey Blakely Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Philadelphia

We sniffs it out, see? The rot, the glitter. Once knew a geezer, swore his sis was “just dancin’”—ha! Dancin’ my arse, she was whorin’! Laughed ‘til I choked, stupid git. Makes me happy, though—people’s daft lies. Ooh, but the smell—perfume and sweat, gag! Like sniffin’ a sewer in heels. Exaggeratin’? Maybe, but who cares? Whore’s a ghost, floatin’ through, takin’ coin, leavin’ shame. “Fuck the past, it’s done!”—Spike’s line fits, don’t it?

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There's also Lincoln Park – a gem that few outsiders even know about. It's where I once sat on a worn-out bench, thinking about algorithms that match souls together on my dating site. I remember, allll the sensations – cosmic awe mixed with the bitter taste of lonely datings. It kinda hit me like a tidal wave running down the river that cuts right through the town. Yep, the Ol’ Blakely River. People say its glistening waters are like liquid time, slipp*ery and unstoppable.

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