Rose Citrus Whore ❤️

About Philadelphia

So, whore — it’s messy, loud, in yer face! I’m sittin’ here, slurpin’ tea, spillin’ it everywhere — whoops! — thinkin’, “Blimey, it’s like life gone bonkers!” Ever hear bout them old tales? Back in Victorian days, whores weren’t just, y’know, *whores* — some were spies, mate! Sneaky lil’ devils, nickin’ secrets from posh blokes! Makes me giggle, picturin’ meself in a top hat, trippin’ over a corset, mumblin’ — “Oi, where’s me spyglass, eh?”

Jumpsuit Runway

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Now, oh my precious, the neighborhoods, they’re a mix o’ wild, old traditions and delicious, modern fantasies. Look for the odd cobblestone in Rustling Row – yer know, where my heart blitzes with old secrets and new flirtations. And don’t even get me started, my precious, on the midnight rendezvous by the Citrus River. Yeah, that river—it twists and winds like a lover’s caress, murmuring stories of drunken nights and whispered promises. Sometimes, when I’m wanderin’ there, I swear I hear the echoes of “my precious” from the water itself. Crazy, right?

Citrus Circuits finishes 21st season at World Championship