Elizabeth San Rafael Whore ❤️

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So, picture this—me, drunk off cheap rum, stumblin’ into some dive in Busan. This whore, right, she’s got eyes like a storm, all sharp and dangerous. She’s hustlin’, sure, but there’s somethin’ else—anger, maybe? Like she’s screamin’ inside, “I’m not just this!” Made me mad, ya know? Not at her—at the world. Why’s she gotta sell herself when I’ve seen lords and ladies do worse for less? Everybody lies, though—she says she’s fine, smilin’ like a cracked mask. “Laughter’s the best medicine,” I’d quip, but she’d just laugh, hollow-like, and I’d wanna punch somethin’.

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PS: y'know I’m all about those quirky moments. I once got so frustated by the windy nights near Puente del Destino, I swear I could barely hear my own heart thump. It hit me: “Whoa, what a f*cking rollercoaster” (yup, raw honesty). And like Michael Scott, I just laughed and cheered, “You miss 100% of the shots you don’t take... or something like that!”

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