Lydia Assen Whore ❤️❤️❤️

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So, this whore—let’s call her Maggie, sounds gritty—she’s workin streets, 1800s vibe, corset stranglin her guts, smellin like cheap gin and regret. Little known fact, yeah? Whores back then, some’d hide tiny knives in their hair—fancy that! Stab a bloke if he got rough. Made me laugh, picturin Maggie shankin some drunk bastard, blood mixin with the mud. “I ate his liver with fava beans,” I’d say, smirkin—prolly tasted like stale ale and bad choices.

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But then, I hear this loud noise. Turns out, there’s a street performer doing some crazy tricks. I stop to watch, and this guy is flipping and spinning like a pro. I’m clapping, totally into it. But then, he trips and falls. I’m like, “Oof, that’s gotta hurt.” But he gets up, laughs it off, and keeps going. Respect, man.

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