Anna Par Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Glasgow

Still, I liked her. Rough round the edges, sure, but real. “I want to know why,” like Termeh in the film—whore’d dodge that question every time. Why’d she do it? Cos she had to, cos she could, cos fuck the world—that’s my guess. We’d sit there, me rantin’ bout the arena, her spillin’ dirt on posh clients. Once said a consul liked her to dress as a Vestal Virgin—ironic, eh? Laughed me tits off at that. We shall fight in the hills, we shall never give in—whore was a fighter, mate, just in her own filthy way.

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I can be your whore! I am the dirt you created. I am your sinner. I am your whore. But let me tell you something baby. You love me for everything you hate me.

Man, what a day! I’m tellin’ ya, being a shearer in Par is like riding a rollercoaster blindfolded. So, I wake up, right? Sun’s barely up, and I’m already feelin’ the weight of the world. I grab my cuppa, and it’s like, “Let’s do this!” But Par, oh Par, you’ve got other plans.

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