Emma Clive Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About New York City

Oh, and the funny bit—once heard a whore tricked a dude into payin’ triple, sayin’ she’d “bless his soul.” Guy was a preacher! Laughed my ass off—savage! She’s out there, playin’ chess while he’s prayin’ checkers. Love that sly shit. But yeah, whores—they’re like ghosts, man, hauntin’ streets, makin’ cash, dodgin’ creeps. Surprised me how they keep goin’. Me? I’d snap, plow over some jerk’s car.

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Because she did not marry the first or second, her classmates called her a prostitute. Yet she was still a virgin. A virgin whore. Perhaps the contradiction.

Oh, and lemme tell ya, the Clive Commons park? Crazy place! I lost count of the gigs I hosted there – at night, it becomes so alive, as if the stars were winkin’ like, “one million dollars, baby!” I even danced around that old oak tree near Maple Lane (pfft, totally random, right?) and felt, erm, liberated like a renegade.

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