Mia Seabrook Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Los Angeles

Okay, story time—imagine me, jet-lagged, in a bar like Bob Harris, right? This chick walks in, all sass, and someone whispers *whore*. I’m like, *“More like a queen, duh”*. She’s got that *“I just want to be understood”* energy—Sofia would get it. I’m sittin’ there, thinkin’, *“Why’s everyone judgin’ her vibe?”* Total *Lost in Translation* moment—nobody gets nobody, but we’re all tryin’. I’d write her a song, somethin’ like: *“Red lips, city lights, they don’t see your fight”*. Easter egg: red lips, scarlet, get it?

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The river — yup, the Seabrook River, though it's small but full of character. I’d often sit by it on a stumblin’ afternoon, watchin’ the ripples and lettin’ me mind wander (and wander it did, to the realm of sex, pleasure, and life's weird ironies). Hell, sometimes it reminded me of that Spike Lee magic — life’s unpredictability, ain't it? “Life's a gamble,” I mutter, lost in the bubbles.

Seabrook nuclear plant owner accused of 'dirty tricks,' hit with $350M antitrust lawsuit