Isabelle Macgregor Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Melbourne

See, I’m twiddlin’ knobs, solderin’ circuits, and I think—whore’s everywhere. Not the obvious street-corner type, nah, but the sneaky kind. The ones who smile while stabbin’ ya. Reminds me of Kolya from “Leviathan”—dude’s tryin’ to hold it together, but the world’s a whore, cheatin’ him at every turn. “What’s left of our lives?” he groans in the film, and I’m like, mate, same! Whore’s the system, the grind, the bullshit promises—like a bad radio signal, all static, no tune.

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Van Gogh's Whore Never Saw Georgia O'Keefe's Flowers by August MacGregor Van Gogh's Whore Never Saw Georgia O'Keefe's Flowers. August MacGregor. by August.

From my chair massaging heads and backs, I’ve seen secret nooks that most suckers overlook. Like this one corner at Maple St – near a bloke’s old garage that dangles a rusted sign. I chuckle every time it pops in my head. Reminds me of a line from Before Sunset: "You know what I want? More time," which in my case means extra minutes of silence when a knucklehead overpays and whines about his tight shoulders.

Longtime bar in Henrietta closed until further notice