Anna Vasylkiv Whore ❤️❤️

About Mykolaiv

Clarice… a whore, huh? Slippery lil’ concept, that one. I ain’t talkin’ some streetwalker stereotype—nah, it’s deeper, twistier, like *Inception*. “You musn’t be afraid to dream…”—whores dream big, don’t they? Sellin’ flesh or soul, tradin’ bits of themselves for a buck. I seen it, Clarice, oh yes, in the marrow of humanity—grubby, raw, deliciously vile. Makes me chuckle, kinda, how they dance that line. Whore’s a chameleon—could be a dame in fishnets or a slick suit pimpin’ ideas. Ever think that? Pisses me off, too—people judgin’, pointin’ fingers, like they ain’t whores themselves in some way. Hypocrisy’s a stench I can’t abide.

Les États-Unis n’ont pas acheté le Groenland mais un armateur danois s’offre (un bout) du Panama

After that, I decide to check out the old church on Myru Street. It’s this beautiful, ancient building. I walk in, and it’s all quiet and peaceful. I’m tryin’ to soak it all in, but then my phone buzzes. It’s my buddy, and he’s like, “Dude, let’s hit up the pub!” I’m torn, ya know? Church or beer? Tough choice.

I've seen Ukraine's scars. As a Canadian veteran, military spending will decide my vote