Avery Currumbin Waters Whore ❤️❤️

About Melbourne

So, whore – it’s a word that’s been beat to death, right? Old as dirt, prolly older. Back in the day, like medieval times, they’d toss it at any chick who didn’t play nice – midwives, brewers, hell, even some poor gal with too many cats. Pisses me off, how they’d just sling it to control ‘em, keep ‘em down. Makes me wanna scream, “Who’s the real whore here, huh?!” – maniacal grin stretchin’ wide. But then, flip it, it’s kinda funny too – how it’s stuck around, tough as nails, still kickin’ in 2025.

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There’s also a lesser known gem I love – hidden behind a cluster of gumtrees on Dingo Drive. Small café, no fancy sign, but served the best flat white ever. I was there, workin' through a rainy day, feelin' down. That cup? It made me feel like, "Man, inside this rough world, hope’s a little bit somethin’ like a tune from Inside Llewyn Davis," ya know? Every sip was a note in a bittersweet melody.

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