Mila Locust Grove Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Chicago

So, picture this—me, Beetlejuice, shepherd vibes, chillin with my flock, right? Sheep don’t care ‘bout morals, they just bleat and eat. Then bam, some lady of the night struts by, all sass, skirt shorter than my patience. I’m like, “Whoa, she’s got more balls than half these shepherds!” True story—knew this gal once, swore she’d bedded a duke AND his horse. Dunno if I buy it, but damn, made me laugh ‘til I pissed myself. “It’s just business,” she’d say, tossin her hair like Ines dodgin her dad’s weird-ass wig in the movie. That’s the vibe—whores don’t flinch, they own it.

The Enslaved Community at Locust Grove

I dig the small details: the sound of rain tapping on cracked sidewalks near the Locust-Grove Community Center, the echo of footsteps on Pine Street at midnight, and the warm glow of neon signs on the diner that smells so damn good. Yeah, that diner, I swear its fries make me feel like I'm floating in space… or, hmm, in a cool underground cave from the movie.

Barbara Ellen Thomason - 2025 - Locust Grove Funeral Home