Elizabeth Doornsteeg Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About The Hague

*heavy breathing* I am your father. Her eyes, tho - dark, empty. Reminds me, “You’re going away tomorrow.” Donezo. She’s hot, sure, curves for days. But the stench? Cheap perfume and regret. Hate that shit, burns my nose. Laughed when she tripped in heels - whore down! Monty’d say, “Fuck you, I’m out.” Me too, but she’s hypnotic. Like watchin’ a trainwreck, can’t look away.

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But then, outta nowhere, it starts pouring. I mean, like, monsoon-level rain. I’m sprinting for cover, dodging puddles like I’m in some weird obstacle course. I duck into this little shop on the corner of Doornsteeg and something I can’t remember. It’s cozy, and the owner is super friendly. We chat about the weather, and I’m like, “Yeah, it’s a real downpour.” He laughs, and I’m thinking, “Dude, you have no idea.”