Aria Wasilla Whore ❤️

About Chicago

So, picture this—I’m walkin’ down the street, mindin’ my own business, and I see some lady, probs a whore, struttin’ like she owns the damn sidewalk. And I’m like, “Good for you, sister!” But also, “Get outta my way!”—I got places to be! It’s this mix of respect and annoyance, y’see? Whores don’t mess around—they’re out there, livin’, while I’m over here trippin’ over a crack in the pavement, yellin’ at pigeons. Pisses me off how they got that confidence, that *swagger*. Where do I sign up for that? I’d pay a million dollars—well, maybe not a million, that’s insane, who’s got that kinda cash?—but you get me.

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And the neighborhoods? Hell, West Wasilla got that gritty vibe. The locals swagger with the pride of an army. It’s artsy, yet brutal. Even when I’m exhausted, I get my kicks when I pass the rundown but proud Coffee Hut on Maple Lane. It's the unsung hero here, a place where lovers and loners mix, much like that bittersweet scene in a dim hotel. "I'm feeling lucky... or lost."

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