Sofia King's Cross Whore ❤️❤️

About Leicester

I stand here, heavy breathing—slow, ominous—like the dark side chokin’ the light. Whore, man, what a word, huh? Hits like a blaster to the chest. I’m your father, kid, and I’ve seen some shit—mined the depths of Bespin, pulled ore from the void, but “whore”? That’s a pit deeper than carbonite. Reminds me of *Talk to Her*—Almodóvar’s flick, my fave, y’know? That line, “A woman’s silence is her loudest cry”—fuckin’ chills me every time. Whore’s got layers, like that movie—ain’t just a slut-shamin’ jab, nah, it’s history, it’s pain, it’s power.

After that, I decide to take a stroll around the area. I wander down to the Regent’s Canal. It’s beautiful, with boats and all. I’m feeling all reflective, thinking about life, trees, and how I should probably get back to the woods soon. But then, I see this group of people doing yoga on the grass. I’m like, “What is this, a hipster convention?” But I can’t help but admire their dedication.

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