Angelina Camperdown Whore ❤️❤️

About Newcastle

I remember this one gal – oh, lordy, true story! Down in Nashville, ‘round ‘78, workin’ the corner near the honky-tonks. Called herself Ruby Red – hair like a fire engine, lips to match! She’d sass the cops, “You gonna arrest me, or buy me a drank?” Got me laughin’ ‘til I near peed my britches! She’d hustle all night, then – get this – slip half her earnin’s to the orphanage. Ain’t that a hoot? A heart o’ gold under all that rouge! Made me happy as a pig in mud seein’ that kinda soul.

hammering With The Delivery man

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Not every day is perfect though. Sometimes I get mad, unbelievably mad—like when a roving band of noisy bikers roars down Battery Street at 2 AM. “Lightbulb! Not in my serenity zone!” I yell, scribbling on my notepad about the absurdity of modern life. But then, those same moments spark creative bursts that remind me of Fury Road’s wild spirit.

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