Aria Duncraig Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Wollongong

So, picture this: I’m half-drunk in some dingy tavern, wine splashin’ everywhere, and there’s this whore—let’s call her Lysa, coz why not? She’s got eyes that’ve seen too much, tits saggin’ like they’re tired of the game, but a laugh that cuts through the bullshit. I’m sittin there, thinkin, “This lass deserves more than cocks and coppers.” Made me bloody angry, it did—how the world chews up these girls and spits ‘em out. Like in *Moolaadé*, where the women scream, “No more cutting!”—I wanted to yell, “No more fuckin’ whorin’!” But who listens to a dwarf, eh?

Skank in Duncraig ?

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Yo, and here's a lil secret: Hidden under a funky overpass on Hardey St, there's an abandoned lot with graffiti that screams passion. That’s my spot for when I need to vibe and think deep thoughts about rad sex positivism and human connection. It’s raw, baby, exactly like life here in Duncraig.

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