Mia Findlay Whore ❤️

About Los Angeles

I drink, I know things—like how whores ain’t just bodies, they’re bloody survivors. “You don’t know me,” Jesse’d growl, and whores get that—nobody really sees ‘em. I’d exaggerate and say they’re the backbone of Westeros, but nah, too far. Still, they’ve got grit. Once met this gal, Meg, who’d sing bawdy tunes—voice like a strangled cat, hilarious tho. “Coward’s way out,” she’d cackle, mockin’ shy punters. Loved her for it.

jessica brown findlay

Sometimes, my mind warbles – "My precious, my precious!" – as I wander from the buzzing bars on W. Main into the calm hideouts of Ruthven Park. I get all giddy and messy inside, like a hero in a high-speed chase, dodging heartbreaks and finding true connections amid chaos.

Trojans blank Napoleon; McComb gets past Ada in 10