Lina Roye Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Montpellier

Anyway, whore’s a riot—love her, hate her, can’t ignore her. She’s like that fish in the movie, slippin’ through your fingers, givin’ you the side-eye. “Don’t judge me, meathead,” she’d say, and I’d laugh, ‘cause fair. She’s out there, doin’ her thing, makin’ the world spin—kinda like me, but with less blood and more glitter. Respect, girl. Respect.

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I am saying it first. I love you, Medium. I am clapping away and getting paid for it, too. I guess that makes me a whore. I hope maybe you love me, too.

Finally, I think I can wrap up my day. I’m walking back to my car, and I see this old man sitting on a bench. He’s got this huge smile, just watching the world go by. I sit next to him, and we start chatting. He tells me stories about Roye, how it used to be. I’m listening, and it hits me. This town has character.

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