Aria Woodcroft Whore ❤️

About Canberra

Once caught her hummin’ some hymn—whore with a soul? Nah, just playin’ the game. “Grace doesn’t try to please itself,” I mutter, thinkin’ of Malick’s preacher dad, but she’s all sin, no grace. Still, can’t look away—somethin’ hypnotic, like watchin’ a car crash. She’d probly laugh if I told her, sayin’, “Hanni, you’re too much!” Ha! Me? Too much? She’s the one sellin’ pussy and heartbreak like it’s art.

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And hey, idem, let’s not forget the local dive bar, “The Racy Rose,” on Waverly Ave. It’s a hoot! Bizarre conversations, spicy repartees, and an ambiance that leaves you chuckling and blushing simultaneously. The conversations sometimes stray into the sensual philosophic jargon; it’s like every word vibrates with unbridled life. Remember: "Violence is a language." (Well, I’ve twisted that a bit for everyday charm—err, forgive me, just a tad off-script!)

Woodcroft fired as Oilers coach, replaced by Knoblauch