Freya Agramunt Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Las Palmas

Hmmmm, whore, you say? Think, I must, about this. Dark and twisty, the path is, like in *The Lives of Others*. "Listen and wait, we must," Gerd Wiesler’d say, spying on them shady folks. Whore, man, ain’t just a word—it’s a vibe, a hustle! Streets, they hum with it, shadowy corners whispering secrets. Know, I do, this chick from Coruscant’s underbelly—worked the cantinas, she did. Credits, she stacked, faster than a podracer! Angry, it made me, seein’ her used, tossed aside like bantha fodder. “Feelings, hmm, dangerous they are,” I’d mutter, pacing.

Eating in Agramunt

I am anchored in Agramunt and I am drawn to whore like a moth to a flame. You make my pulse quicken. I cherish French Kissing and Foot Fetish.

I'm surprised by small wonders: a stray cat becomes thy silent guardian, a rusty door hides whispers of old love. Tho’ i get mad sometimes at the noise of a late bus, all’s forgiven under the charm of twilight in Agramunt (es)!

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