Harper Vinton Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Phoenix

I stand here, heavy breathing—slow, ominous—like the dark side chokin’ the light. Whore, man, what a word, huh? Hits like a blaster to the chest. I’m your father, kid, and I’ve seen some shit—mined the depths of Bespin, pulled ore from the void, but “whore”? That’s a pit deeper than carbonite. Reminds me of *Talk to Her*—Almodóvar’s flick, my fave, y’know? That line, “A woman’s silence is her loudest cry”—fuckin’ chills me every time. Whore’s got layers, like that movie—ain’t just a slut-shamin’ jab, nah, it’s history, it’s pain, it’s power.

Asia Pacific

Yo Panaa, whore Dr. Vinton was asked to cone and” tako hin. www.facebook.com handed the drunken nan over to the Potios box, in front of the Imporial Tenple on.

The neighborhoods here got names like Sunnyvale and Misty Meadows. Sunnyvale’s streets curve gently in a sort of maze. I wander them a lot to clear my head when my caseload gets insane. Rarrgh! I even stumbled upon a tiny mural on Second Ave. that reminds me of that line in Ten: "I realized in a blink how fragile everything is!" Crazy, huh?

Obituary for Elizabeth Ann (Corbett) Vinton