Nora Pocora Whore ❤️

About San Jose

So, whores, right? Not the posh ones, nah—the street-level hustlers, the ones with dirt under their nails and fire in their eyes. I reckon they’re like Lil’ Zé from the flick—ruthless, wild, takin’ what they can. “I smoke, I snort, I’ve killed, I’ve robbed!”—swap that for a whore’s tale: “I strut, I grind, I’ve tricked, I’ve survived!” Same energy, innit? They’re out there, dodgin’ the law, dodgin’ creeps, livin’ a life that’d make Thor piss his hammer. Makes me smirk—mortals are so bloody messy, and I love it!

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Then, there's the river – Río Quen. It twists through the city like a blue serpent. I remember sitting on a worn-out bench on its edge at dusk, coding in between sips of stale coffee, thinking "life, love, and chaos." Yup, it’s just like Sorrentino's vision of beauty in every crazy detail.

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