Zoe Punta Gorda Isles Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Los Angeles

Whores, they’re survivors, see? Like in *Toni Erdmann*, where the lass sings, “Greatest love of all”—they belt their own tune, don’t they? Ain’t no fancy lord tellin’ ‘em what’s what. But arrgh, it boils me blood when some bilge rat calls ‘em filth! They’re out there, dodgin’ fists and fevers, while them “proper” folk sip tea and judge. Hypocrites, the lot! Gets me riled, it does—makes me wanna keelhaul ‘em.

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The surprises keep coming—like Cobra Creek Park near the old botanical gardens. Give it a whirl if you're into secret trysts with nature. There, under a weeping willow, I once watched a couple share whispered promises. It was like witnessing “the unpredictable, the miraculous” scene that Malick so subtly painted.

Hurricane Milton's devastation from above