Anna Cranston Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Dallas

But ugh, what pisses me off? People callin’ it “boring frost”—excuse me?! Hoar’s a diva, okay, not some basic bitch snowflake. Takes perfect cold, dry air—rare as hell. One time, in Nashvile (whoops, typo!), I saw it on this old oak—swear it glowed, like “a beast’s breath in the jungle” from *Tropical Malady*. I was shook—stood there freezin’ my ass off, just starin’. Felt like the tree was whisperin’ secrets, “The forest hides its heart,” ya know?

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5 days ago · I don't need that Lamont Cranston to tell me. Every Irishman knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men. We've known since the time of that rotten ould whore, Elizabeth the Bloody .

Cranston’s got these neat neighborhoods. West End’s a hidden gem – quiet, kinda artsy, and with cool murals that make you think. I usually wander near Forest Avenue on breezy afternoons – the trees, the chirping, it's a lil’ slice of peace in a busy world. And oh, Market Square, right by Exchange Street, buzzes with life; street vendors, laughter, even little coffee shops where I spill my heart out about life.

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