Samantha Beek Whore ❤️❤️❤️

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I hate how it mocks me—sits there, darin’ me to play. “No way out,” like Saul’s kid trapped in chaos—Whore traps you too. Exaggeratin’? Maybe, but strum it, and you’re screwed—lost in its dirty, sexy roar. Personal quirk? I talk to it sometimes, call it a filthy tease. Sarcasm’s my shield—Whore’s a slut for attention, and I’m its grumpy pimp. Informative enough? Hell, just grab one and feel the mess yourself. Hate everything, but Whore? Whore’s my kinda trash.

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After that, I was feelin’ good. I hit up this café on the corner of de Molenstraat. Got myself a cappuccino. It was decent, but the barista was a total weirdo. He kept makin’ these weird faces while he was makin’ my drink. Like, dude, chill! It’s just coffee, not rocket science.

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