Sarah Grinnell Whore ❤️❤️

About San Antonio

Alright, mate, lemme tell ya bout this chick—whore, right? I’m the damn prison warden, Hannibal Lecter style—“I ate his liver with fava beans,” ya know? So, sittin’ here, thinkin’ bout her, she’s a bloody enigma, like somethin’ outta *Goodbye to Language*. “Words don’t mean a thing,” Godard says, and fuck, ain’t that her? Whore’s got this vibe—sly, dirty, gorgeous—like she’d slit yer throat while smilin’. Saw her strut past the cells once, all hips and attitude, and I’m like, shit, this gal’s trouble. Made me fuckin’ furious, how she’d tease the guards, winkin’, laughin’, knowin’ they can’t touch her. Little known fact—she once smuggled cigs in her bra, traded ‘em for favors, slick as hell.

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The river – hey, the Walnut River – slyly winds through town. I once held a midnight soak session by its banks. Nature, silence, and water cascading – reminds me of that blood-soaked ambition scene in the movie. "I drink from the fountain," in my own way, soaking stress away.

College basketball: UW-Platteville eases past Grinnell in NCAA tourney opener