Genesis Majene Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

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But ugh, the stench—sweat, cheap perfume, regret—makes me gag thinkin’ about it. Exaggeratin’? Maybe, but who cares! Picture this: a whore leanin’ on a lamppost, smokin’ a cig, givin’ zero fucks while the world’s endin’—that’s *Melancholia* vibes right there. “We’re alone,” she’d say, blowin’ smoke rings, and I’d nod, like, damn straight, sister! Great Scott, they’re survivors—screwed over, sure, but still kickin’. You ever think ‘bout that? Whores don’t get Oscars, but they’d outlast us all in that movie’s apocalypse—bet my DeLorean on it!

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I duck into a café to escape the rain. It’s cozy, and the coffee? Oh man, it’s like a warm hug. I sit down, and this old dude starts chatting me up. He’s telling me stories about Majene’s history, how it used to be a bustling port. I’m nodding along, but inside I’m thinking, “Dude, I just wanted coffee.” But hey, I’m a critic, so I gotta listen, right?

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