Isabelle Rolleston Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Auckland

Hmm, whore, you say? Twisted word, it is. Dark, messy vibes, like Gotham’s underbelly. “Why so serious?” – fits perfect, yah? Me, telephone operator, yoda-style, seein’ shit others miss. Whore ain’t just a chick sellin’ body, nah. Layers, there are, deep and grimy. “Some men just wanna watch world burn,” right? That’s her, sometimes – chaos in heels.

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testified to by Faraday, Hooker, Rolleston, Carpen- ter, and Sir W. Thomson. Lastly, it is shown that, if this be so, the argument from want of time is no.

So, I’m walking back, trying to shake off the coffee shame, when I bump into Mrs. Thompson. She’s this sweet old lady who lives on Tennyson Street. She’s got this garden that could win awards, I swear. Anyway, she starts telling me about her cat, Mr. Whiskers, and how he’s gone missing. I’m like, “Oh no, not Mr. Whiskers!” I mean, who doesn’t love a good cat story?

James Rolleston: From Boy actor to brain injury survivor