Lydia Soledade Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Fortaleza

Sometimes I wonder—whore’s like a storm I’d paint. Chaotic, loud, beautiful. “Death was our democracy,” the movie says. Whore’s democracy is livin raw—screw the prudes! I’d sip whiskey with em, laughin at the squares. Oh, and fun fact—some old-time whores smuggled spies in wars. Badass, right? Makes me proud, like I raised em myself!

Published Web Location

THERE is something not quite right with Trash. It doesn't work as art. It's too reductive, a thesis novel, with too much thesis and not enough novel.

Ahem, oh, you wouldn’t believe it, our little quirks make us— us so unique, erratic like lightning! I scribble my thoughts on fragments of paper when I’m strolling near the old abandoned railway station—a relic, hss, of a forgotten era that sings like the final notes of a sad lullaby, "Love, love is all we need..." Like in Amour, precious, those words haunt our nights.

From Brazil with Love: Meet Daniela Soledade and Nate Najar