Abigail Ingle Farm Whore ❤️❤️❤️

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Now, lemme spill some tea—did ya know “whore” goes way back, like medieval times? Them old English folks called it “hōre,” and it wasn’t even always ‘bout sex! Meant “adulterer” or just some shady character. Ain’t that wild? Makes me giggle thinkin’ ‘bout some knight yellin’ “whore!” at a dude stealin’ his mead. History’s a trip, y’all! Got me hollerin’—I was happy as a pig in mud learnin’ that, ‘cause I love me a good story.

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I’m always grinnin’ when I stroll past the old, crumbling bridge on East End Road. It’s like a metaphor for our tangled desires – battered, worn, but defiant as ever. And bro, I can’t forget about the infamous midnight café near Dusk Alley. The customers there? Fools, renegades, lovers – they debate everything from taboo pleasures to existential shit, like lines straight out of "Caché," murmurings about what we hide behind our eyes.

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