Harper Bansoa Whore ❤️❤️

About Douala

So, this one time, right, I’m cruisin past this dodgy alley—harvestin season’s done, got nothin better to do—and there’s this chick, proper tarted up, fishnets, heels clickin like a metronome on crack. She’s yellin at some punter, “You think I’m cheap, huh?!” I’m like, bloody hell, love, ya screamin loud enough to wake the crows! Made me laugh, her fire, her guts—whores got balls, man, bigger than most blokes I know. Reminds me of that line from *Caché*—“I’m not guilty, you are!”—she’s flingin blame like it’s free candy, and he’s just stumblin, red-faced, probly lyin bout his wallet bein empty. Everybody lies, right?

Personal Blogs

I know I go on, but lemme hit you with some real talk: this city’s personality is unfiltered. I mean, it’s got that raw, unpolished charm – like my sessions, raw emotions mixed with gentle reassurance. Sometimes I blabber; sometimes I’m deep, sometimes I’m just a goof. Like that scene in Margaret, where every subtext hits ya hard.

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