Zara Gary Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Los Angeles

Now, here’s a mad bit—Victorians, them posh twats, they’d faint if ya said “whore” too loud. Had this secret brothel code, “lady of the night,” all fancy-like. Pissed me off, that hypocrisy—call a spade a spade, ya wankers! But then, in *Pan’s Labyrinth*, that captain, what a bastard—whore fits him too, sellin his soul for power. “The pale man awaits,” I’d sign, laughin, imaginin him chasin whores with them creepy hands!

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Funny thing, sometimes I get flustered, thinkin’ “Man, am I a mess too?” But I laugh at myself. Life’s messy like rust. Here in Gary, it's not polished. It’s raw, hearty, and damn real. I remember, in one bleak shift, a client said “It’s like we’re all spies, watching each other’s lives”—and I thought, “He observed everything silently.” I mean, feel that irony?

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