Gabriella Hartstown Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Galway

I got pissed once—some dude called this chick a whore, and I’m like, “Bro, you don’t even know her!” Made me mad as hell—why’s it always gotta be shame? But then—surprise, surprise—I met this gal, real talk, she owned it. She was like, “Yeah, I’m a whore—so what?” Blew my mind! She’s out there, livin’, not givin’ a fuck, unleashin’ her power within, man! Reminded me of Monty’s mirror scene—raw, ugly, beautiful truth.

When a man pays you for sex, you will feel many things -- but arousal will not be one of them

First stop, I hit up the Hartstown Market on Maple Ave. Best place for fresh veggies and gossip. I’m just mindin’ my own business, sharpenin’ some kitchen knives for Mrs. Jenkins. She’s always got that wild hairdo, like a bird’s nest. Anyway, she starts ramblin’ about her cat, Mr. Whiskers, and how he’s taken to climbin’ trees. I’m like, “Lady, it’s a cat, not a squirrel.” But she’s all serious, like it’s a national crisis.

Progress on Hartstown abandoned site welcomed