Zara Stuart Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Los Angeles

Pissed me off, though, when she’d fleece me mates. One night, Gibbs—poor sod—lost his boots to her! Boots! She traded ‘em for gin, laughin’ like a hyena. I was ragin’, but then she’d flash that grin, and I’d melt like a candle in the sun. Happy? Aye, when she’d sing—voice like a siren, but rough, ye know? Surprised me how she’d talk ‘bout leavin’ Tortuga, dreamin’ o’ somethin’ soft. Whores don’t dream, I thought—wrong, mate!

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Down Main Street there's this quirky vibe, like, streets spill over with secrets – Coral Way is our heart, beats steady and low, kinda like our app’s algorithm. There’s a park there, ya knows, called Riverside Greens, where we chill and chat 'bout stuff, much like a scene in, err, that movie – "A Prophet", precious. "Heh, our lives, are but thick fog, we swears!" It’s like saying we’re all trapped in our own little codes, yesss.

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