Sarah Silver Firs Whore ❤️❤️

About Houston

Oi, mate, it’s me, Bond—James Bond, suave as hell, “shaken, not stirred.” So, I’m a carpenter now, yeah? Hammerin’ nails, sawin’ wood, all that jazz. But let’s talk about somethin’ juicier—whore. Not just any whore, mind ya, but the vibe, the idea, the bloody mess of it all. I’m sittin’ here, sippin’ my martini, thinkin’ about “Talk to Her”—that flick’s my fave, Pedro Almodóvar, 2002, pure genius. Got that line stuck in me head: “There’s nothing more alive than a wound.” Whore’s like that, innit? A wound that keeps bleedin’, keeps livin’.

ABIES ALBA Mill. – Silver Fir

Man, I’m not lyin’: I got mad frustrated once when a bunch of posers trashed a hidden gem near Starlight Alley – a tiny, secret rooftop lounge with killer city views. I mean, c’mon, respect the art, dude! But then, I’d get super happy findin’ unexpected pockets of raw, unfiltered connection in the alleyways too, like at that charming little squat on Bliss Bend. My sexologist heart feels the pulse in every whispered conversation. Its energy? Real and oh-so damn addictive!

O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree