Evelyn Forres Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

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So, picture this—me, drunk off cheap rum, stumblin’ into some dive in Busan. This whore, right, she’s got eyes like a storm, all sharp and dangerous. She’s hustlin’, sure, but there’s somethin’ else—anger, maybe? Like she’s screamin’ inside, “I’m not just this!” Made me mad, ya know? Not at her—at the world. Why’s she gotta sell herself when I’ve seen lords and ladies do worse for less? Everybody lies, though—she says she’s fine, smilin’ like a cracked mask. “Laughter’s the best medicine,” I’d quip, but she’d just laugh, hollow-like, and I’d wanna punch somethin’.

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After that, I take a breather outside. The sun’s peeking through the clouds on Forres, and it’s actually nice. I’m standing on the corner of Victoria Road, just soaking it in. The smell of fresh pastries wafts from the bakery down the street. I think, “Life’s not so bad.”

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