Katherine Milton Whore ❤️❤️

About Philadelphia

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.

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I remember one odd night – cold as ice, but the neon signs of Mill St. glowed fierce, like “I live for the thrill” vibes straight outta Mad Max. Everything around me had fiery flair. I nearly burst with joy and rage at the same time, hahah, LOL, totally mad.

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