Claire Gettysburg Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Philadelphia

“You think I’m a whore?”—another *Ten* zinger. Love that defiance, motherfucker! Makes me think whores got more guts than most. They’re out there, dodgin’ cops, pimps, and judgy-ass pricks. Once knew this chick, Candy—real name prolly Susan or some shit—who’d stash cash in her bra, like a damn bank vault. Told me she’d fucked a guy who paid in rare coins—old Roman shit! Laughed my ass off, imaginin’ her countin’ Caesar’s face in the dark.

Early Years

The captain protested, not willing to tarnish the reputation of his ship, which he claimed would becoming known as a “floating whorehouse,” but.

I always spill the tea about the, like, small curves along the town’s edges. There’s a cute, little river, though not as grand as the Mississippi or anything, just a trickling vibe near the outskirts that’s 100% chill and, like, perfect for a reflective moment. Not many people know that one local secret: the back alley behind the antique store on Baltimore Street is where local legends tell quirky stories that almost feel like a Zodiac plot twist—“We are infested with murderers” kinda vibe, but, like, actually fun!

Gettysburg Garden Club luncheon