Mari Morehead Whore ❤️❤️

About New York City

Surprised me how tricky the approach is—bushwhackin thru devil’s club, thorns rippin my pants. Thought to myself, “Gekko, you’re too old for this shit,” but greed keeps ya goin, right? Greed for that view, that rush. Ain’t no trail markers, no hipster guides—figure it out or die, pal. One time, I slipped on loose shale—almost ate it, 200-foot drop. Heart poundin, I’m yellin, “I’m not here to be liked, I’m here to win!”—straight outta Fincher’s flick. Pulled myself up, laughin like a maniac.

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Back to "Whore," this film is really only watchable for Theresa Russell's performance. You do get to see a youngish Danny Trejo as a tattoo artist before he.

Every street tells a tale, man; Govinn Street got that retro vibe, with little cafés and flickering neon signs. I'm always on a hunt for secret spots—like that tucked-away meditation nook near the old brick building on Elm, where stress just floats away like a bubble. Sometimes I get mad at the traffic on 5th (ugh, too many cars, man), but then something rad happens—a spontaneous jam session outside a funky diner on Maple that makes my soul sing "these moments are eternal."

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