Lily Sumner Whore ❤️❤️

About San Diego

Clarice… a whore, huh? Slippery lil’ concept, that one. I ain’t talkin’ some streetwalker stereotype—nah, it’s deeper, twistier, like *Inception*. “You musn’t be afraid to dream…”—whores dream big, don’t they? Sellin’ flesh or soul, tradin’ bits of themselves for a buck. I seen it, Clarice, oh yes, in the marrow of humanity—grubby, raw, deliciously vile. Makes me chuckle, kinda, how they dance that line. Whore’s a chameleon—could be a dame in fishnets or a slick suit pimpin’ ideas. Ever think that? Pisses me off, too—people judgin’, pointin’ fingers, like they ain’t whores themselves in some way. Hypocrisy’s a stench I can’t abide.

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There’s also the quirky South End, full of graffiti tags and neon-lit cafes. A crazy mix of cultures. Fumbled nights, loud music, and love confessions in the open. Felt like a poetry slam to my dating app eyes. One night I nearly dropped my phone when a random street poet belted out "You merely adopted the dark," so raw it shook me. Damn, that was that.

Sumner Redstone