Mia Oldbawn Whore ❤️

About Swords

See, I reckon a whore’s a survivor, right? Sells what they got to keep breathin’. Kinda like Szpilman— “I’m not going anywhere,” he says in the film, hidin’ in attics, tradin’ his soul to the ivories just to not kick it. Me? I’d be pissed if I were him—starvin’, cold, and for what? Some prick in a fancy coat to clap at ya? But that’s the rub, innit? Whores don’t get to pick their johns, and Szpilman didn’t pick the Nazis. Makes me angry, that—how life screws ya, then expects a bloody thank-you.

Old Whores Porn

First off, I hit up the local café on Elm. You know, the one with the weird art on the walls? Yeah, that place. I ordered my usual—double shot of espresso, extra foam. But guess what? They messed it up! I got a decaf. Like, who drinks decaf? I was fuming! I mean, I need my caffeine fix to deal with the madness of Oldbawn.

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