Avery Soure Whore ❤️

About Lisbon

Look, I ain’t perfect—probly spelled “whore” wrong five times typin’ this, ha! Gets me goin’, though, how folks act all high and mighty. Ruby’d laugh her ass off at that. “How’s that workin’ for ya?” I’d ask ‘em, and they’d just stare, dumbfounded. Whores got stories—gritty, real ones. Like Polley’s film, it’s messy, raw, and damn beautiful. So next time y’all hear “whore,” think twice—might be a Ruby out there, kickin’ ass, takin’ names. That’s my take, y’all—straight from the heart, no filter!

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I hit the streets of Soure, feeling pumped. The sun was shining, and I was ready to explore. I strolled down Rua da Liberdade, thinking about all the fish I’d seen in the lagoons. You know, the ones that shimmer like diamonds? Yeah, those. But then, bam! I tripped over a cobblestone. Classic me. Almost face-planted.

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