Aria Motueka Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Christchurch

Oi, mate, it’s Bond—James Bond, suave, “shaken, not stirred.” So, we’re talkin’ ‘bout whores, yeah? Not the judgy type, mind you—I’ve seen too much in this gig. Whores, they’re like the unsung heroes of the gritty streets, ain’t they? Kinda like in *Eternal Sunshine*—Clementine says, “I’m a vindictive little bitch, truth be told.” That’s the vibe—raw, real, messy. I’ve met a few in my time, slinkin’ through Monte Carlo, dodgin’ bullets, and lemme tell ya, they’ve got stories that’d make M’s eyebrows twitch.

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First off, I hit up High St for brekkie. You know, the usual—coffee and a pie. I swear, the pies here are like little pockets of heaven. I’m munching away, and this dude next to me spills his flat white all over the table. Like, bro, chill! It’s just coffee, not a crime scene. But hey, I laugh it off. Gotta love the chaos of a small town, right?

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