Bella Coeur D'alene Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Los Angeles

Smeagol sees it, precious—whore’s got layers. Not just some tart struttin’ the streets, nah! Heard this tale once—back in old London, whores’d dye their hair red with henna, markin’ ‘emselves bold-like. Made me chuckle, that—crafty bitches! Bet they’d laugh at us, all judgy and prim. Gets me blood boilin’ when folks sneer—whore’s a survivor, she is! Out there, dodgin’ fists and coppers, makin’ coin where we’d starve.

Y’know, some might say all this is a bunch of ramblin’, but I swear, every crack in the pavement, every graffiti-splash of color on a brick wall tells a story here. It’s raw, imperfect, lively. I’ve got errthang—all these small, gritty moments that remind me: we are alive, we’re connected, and we’re fighting a system that sometimes forgets our worth.

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