Lydia Bloomfield Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About New York City

So, here’s the deal—whore’s a label, yeah? Slapped on athletes, mostly women, who flaunt it—power, sex, whatever. Pisses me off! Society’s all, “Oh, she’s a champ, but—whore!” Like, can’t she just win AND be hot? Ugh, double standards make me wanna hurl my clipboard! Watched this tennis gal once—killer serve, legs for days—crowd loved her. Then bam, some jerk yells “whore” ‘cause her skirt’s short. Made me furious, dahling! Wanted to storm down, smack him with my glasses—no capes, just fists!

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There’s a spot called Harrison’s Corner. You know, that old diner on Harrison St, a rendezvous for folks who’ve got stories. I’ve sat and listened for hours. The locals, they flap their tongues – drama, jokes, and secrets. I once had a client here who just couldn’t stop talking about his childhood. Oops, got a bit too personal, y’know?

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