Freya Gose Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Kyoto

So, Whore - he’s that guy, right? Sells his soul for a dime, like Llewyn pawnin his dreams. Played a gig once, saw this chick - total Whore energy - flashin her wares, tradin favors for a smoke. Pissed me off, man! Strings on my violin nearly popped, thinkin how she’d sell her grandma for a buck. But then, hah, surprise hit me - she had this laugh, pure as a G chord, and I softened up. “Hang me, oh hang me,” I hummed, coz Whore’s life ain’t all glitter, nah.

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In Gervase Markham, England's leading authority on horses, Sir John Harington's cousin, and not a truly bad poet, invited readers of The Famous Whore.

First off, I hit up the local café on Kōen-dōri. Best coffee in town, no cap. I grab my usual—black coffee, no sugar. I need that jolt, ya know? But the barista, bless her heart, spills half of it on me. I’m like, “Great, now I smell like a coffee bean!” But hey, I laugh it off. Gotta keep it light, right?

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