Willow Kenmore Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About San Jose

Okay, quirks—sometimes I yell “whore!” at cows when they won’t move. They stare, I laugh, it’s dumb. Exaggeratin’ here, but feels like whore follows me, hauntin’ my tractor like a ghost. “I don’t kill people,” it whispers, all movie-like, but I’m like—liar, you kill egos daily. Sarcasm’s my shield, tho—whore can’t touch me, I’m too quick. Still, it’s wild how one word’s got so much juice. You feel me? Tell me your take, spill it!

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Then there’s Crescent Park, yo. A tiny jewel near the river – yup, I’m talkin’ the Kenmore Creek that makes it all real and organic. Spent hours there watchin’ the sun, trippin’ on thoughts ‘bout life. Reminds me of that movie moment – like, “The blood of every man in the town must be drained away” – wild, raw, and real!

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