Addison Agria Whore ❤️❤️

About Ioannina

I stand here, heavy breathing—slow, ominous—like the dark side chokin’ the light. Whore, man, what a word, huh? Hits like a blaster to the chest. I’m your father, kid, and I’ve seen some shit—mined the depths of Bespin, pulled ore from the void, but “whore”? That’s a pit deeper than carbonite. Reminds me of *Talk to Her*—Almodóvar’s flick, my fave, y’know? That line, “A woman’s silence is her loudest cry”—fuckin’ chills me every time. Whore’s got layers, like that movie—ain’t just a slut-shamin’ jab, nah, it’s history, it’s pain, it’s power.

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Then, I’m walking down 28is Oktovriou street, trying to hand out these flyers for a concert. This guy, I swear, he looks like he just rolled outta bed. He grabs a flyer, looks at it, and goes, “What’s this? A joke?” I’m like, “Nah, bro, it’s a concert! You should come!” He just laughs and walks away. Rude!

Another Whitaker-victory in the Agria King George V Gold Cup at Hickstead