Rebecca Spring Grove Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About San Antonio

So, check it—whore ain’t just a word, it’s a whole damn galaxy of mess. Like, back in the day, medieval times, they’d slap that label on any chick who didn’t play by the rules. Midwives? Whores. Healers? Whores. Dudes were shook, so they flipped it into shame. Pisses me off, yo! Why’s it always the ladies gettin screwed over? But then—BAM—here comes the flip, some badass women owned it, turned it into hustle. Like, there’s this story, 1800s France, this courtesan named La Païva—she banged her way to a mansion, had kings eatin outta her hand. Straight savage! I’m like, "YAAAS, QUEEN, GET THAT BREAD!"

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Discover the ideal family home you have been searching for, a charming and spacious three-bedroom, two-bathroom gem nestled in a tranquil neighbourhood.

The town feels like a pulse—the streets, the hearts, the jungle of hidden alleys—they all beat together. It’s chaotic, it's real, it's gritty, it's sweet. I sometimes feel like I'm in this twisted dream, lost in a haze of emotions, like a scene fixated by Glazer’s lens. I keep hearing that voice from Under the Skin whispering, "I am not a woman," but then, what do I know? I'm just chillin' here in this crazy, tender town.

Album Review: The Ophelias – Spring Grove