Emilia Watson Whore ❤️❤️

About Canberra

So, *whore*—it’s like this texture, right? Worn-out velvet, stained silk, maybe some chipped glitter if ya squint. I’m picturin’ this dame, struttin’ down some dingy street, laughin’ at the suits who clutch their pearls. Hah! Gets me all giddy thinkin’ bout it—freedom, y’know? Not givin’ a damn what nobody thinks. Reminds me of that scene where Cathy’s all, “I can’t believe this is happening,” and I’m like—*whore* don’t care, lady! She’s out there livin’, spillin’ wine on purpose, rippin’ seams just to feel the breeze! Ever hear that story ‘bout the old burlesque gals? Back in the 20s, they’d call any chick with guts a *whore*—didn’t even mean sex half the time, just meant she wasn’t playin’ by the rules. Wild, huh? Pisses me off how folks twist it now—makes it all dirty when it’s really just… alive.

Cyberpunk Wiki

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Hahaha, oh and pssst, one more thing: if you wander towards Central Loop Market, stop at that tiny vintage record shop. It’s got tunes from the 70s that make your heart flutter like pancakes on a Sunday morning. My inner hippie totally goes bonkers. Hey, sorry for being all jumbled – but sometimes, words just spill out like a runaway espresso machine:

The church of Trump with Don Watson