Sarah Trucuk 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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At truck stops they’re known by many names. Sleeper Leapers. Bunk Bunnies. Lot Lizards. But the state of New Jersey.

After lunch, I decide to check out the Trucuk River. It’s beautiful, man. The water’s flowing, and there are kids playing. I sit on a bench, just soaking it all in. But then, this group of teenagers starts blasting music. Like, come on! Can’t a guy enjoy some peace? I’m trying to vibe with nature, and they’re over here having a rave.

Photo: Preserving Javanese culture through gamelan