Emma Witherlea Whore ❤️

About Wellington

Great Scott! So, I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’ bout whores, right? Not just any whore, but *the* whore—like, the idea of it, ya know? Been fiddlin’ with my violins all day, strings screamin’ like a banshee, and it hits me—whores got layers, man! Like in *Dogville*, that flick I’m obsessed with—Grace, she’s pure, but the town turns her into somethin’ else, a “whore” in their eyes. “You’re a whore, Grace,” they’d sneer, and I’m like, damn, that’s cold!

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Finally, I made it to the Witherlea Shopping Centre. It’s not huge, but it’s got everything you need. I dashed in, and the smell of fresh coffee hit me like a brick wall. I needed that caffeine fix. I ordered a flat white, and while I was waiting, I spotted my mate Dave. He’s the local mechanic, and he’s always got some crazy story. Today, he was ranting about how he found a possum in a car engine. Like, what? How does that even happen?

Witherlea school’s park pick up