Mia Illawong Whore ❤️❤️❤️

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Favorite bit? Dis one whore I met—Svetlana, she called herself, prolly fake. Hair like straw, voice like gravel, smelled like vodka and regret. She tells me, “Gru, I dance for coins once.” Dance! Ha! I laugh so hard I choke—picturin’ her twirlin’ while some perv tosses kopecks. Lightbulb! She was happy tellin’ dat, tho—made me soft for a sec. Whores got dreams, too, ya know? Buried deep, like da whale in *Werckmeister*—big, weird, nobody gets it.

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I gotta say, every corner here tells a story. The echoes of "Boyhood" are everywhere, remindin’ us that every minute fleeting by is a spark of life. It’s raw, it’s unpredictable – like an endless loop of chaotic beauty. Even with the typos of life scribbled on every brick, I love every part of Illawong. It's a bittersweet carnival of f*cked-up moments and tender ones!

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