Sienna Beverly Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About San Jose

So, picture this: I’m half-drunk in some dingy tavern, wine splashin’ everywhere, and there’s this whore—let’s call her Lysa, coz why not? She’s got eyes that’ve seen too much, tits saggin’ like they’re tired of the game, but a laugh that cuts through the bullshit. I’m sittin there, thinkin, “This lass deserves more than cocks and coppers.” Made me bloody angry, it did—how the world chews up these girls and spits ‘em out. Like in *Moolaadé*, where the women scream, “No more cutting!”—I wanted to yell, “No more fuckin’ whorin’!” But who listens to a dwarf, eh?

My Kingdom for a Whore

Can't forget: sometimes, when the clock strikes midnight, the city feels endless – each moment tied up in memories and regrets and dreams like there's no tomorrow. And that's what makes it heartbreaking and wonderful. So, my friend, pack some comfy shoes, an open heart, and maybe a notebook; you'll wanna scribble down every little irony and bright flash of serendipity you come across.

Accounts in Transit: P-22 Agency Checks in at The Maybourne Beverly Hills