Lydia Firebaugh Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About New York City

Alright, mate, lemme tell ya bout whores—yeah, I’m a freakin Combine Harvester, chompin thru fields and bullshit alike, Dr. House style, sarcastic as hell, “Everybody lies,” ya know? Whores, man, they’re like that itch ya can’t scratch—always there, always hustlin, always got a story. Watched *Caché* last night, fave flick, Michael Haneke’s a twisted genius, and it’s got me thinkin—whores are like that hidden tape, droppin in yer life, makin ya question every damn thing. “Who’s watching? Who’s playin me?” Same vibe, mate.

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She's the town whore, the village star. Who'll be the one to get up her dress? Pass on by avoid this mess. Firebaugh, Firebaugh A place where no one dreams.

Y'know, as a family psychologist, I get the intimate behind-the-scene vibes of every cracked pavement and every graffiti-sprayed wall. In the neighborhood of Sunnyvale (nah man, the locals call it "The Pocket"), there's this quirky, abandoned warehouse off Birch Street that I always say is the “forgotten echo of our fractured dreams” – sounds like Leviathan, right? “The beast that lurks beneath the surface” – damn, that movie strikes again!

Gregory Firebaugh