Jasmine Budapest Xvi. Keruelet Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Debrecen

Alright, so here’s the deal with whores—yeah, I said it, whores! Tina Fey comin’ at ya, snarky as hell, “I can see Russia from my house!” vibe. Whores, man, they’re everywhere, always have been, right? Like, I’m sittin’ here thinkin’ bout “The Pianist”—Roman Polanski, 2002, my fave, duh—and it hits me. Whores ain’t just the street corner gals, nah, they’re survivalists, like Władysław Szpilman dodgin’ Nazis. “I must go on living,” he says, and whores? Same energy. They’re hustlin’, scrapin’ by, dodgin’ society’s bullshit judgments.

But then, I hear a loud honk. A tram is coming, and I’m standing too close to the tracks. I jump back, laughing at myself. “What a day!” I think. I’m exhausted but grateful.