Hazel Manston Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

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Oi, thou saucy mate! Here’s me ramblin’ ‘bout whores, them wild spirits o’ the night. I’m proper buzzin’ to spill this, ‘cos it’s a tale twisty as a hag’s tongue. Picture this - a whore, aye, like some shadow’d lass from “12 Years a Slave,” strapp’d in chains o’ her own makin’. “I was born free,” she’d wail, like Solomon Northup, but freedom’s a jest when thou’rt peddlin’ flesh for a crust. ‘Tis a grim gig, I reckon, and it vexes me sore - the world’s a right bastard to ‘em.

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I just don't like whore ending as the only option. Someone's slave Manston, Elysion etc.) that it became unmanageable and abandoned.

After that, I’m feeling pumped. I head over to the local café on Manston Road for a quick coffee. I need it, trust me. I order a latte, and the barista, this super chill guy, starts chatting with me. He’s telling me about the best spots in Manston. Apparently, there’s a hidden park I’ve never heard of. I’m like, “Dude, I need to check that out!”

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