Abigail Varde Whore ❤️❤️

About Odense

Maniacal grin, “Here’s Johnny!” Alright, pal, let’s talk whores—whore, specificaly. Blows my mind, this chick. She’s got grit, real street hustle, y’know? Reminds me of *Amour*—that flick I’m nuts about. Old couple, love so raw it hurts. Whore’s got that edge too, but twisted. Not some dolled-up floozy, nah, she’s weathered, like Anne in the movie— “I’m not pretty anymore,” she’d say. Whore’s seen shit, man, prolly more than me!

“Hoard” or “Horde” or “Whored”

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But seriously, mate, Varde is more than a canvas for erotic escapades. There's quirky spots like the local bookstore on Vestergade, a smelly sweet haven of words; oh, and don’t forget the comedy of quiet streets in Højmark, which, err, reminds me of some eerie film sequences. Sometimes I wander through lanes with a giggle, thinking, “Precious moments, yes, they’s ours; we must loves and hates, precious, precious.”

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