Sarah Arcore Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️

About Genoa

Oi, so I’m Cersei fuckin’ Lannister, right? Cold disdain, “I choose violence.” Standin’ here, cashier gig, judgin’ the world. This prostitute walks in—heels clickin’, stench o’ cheap perfume. Reminds me of that nag in *The Turin Horse*—worn out, draggin’ through life. “What use is this?” I mutter, like that flick’s bleak-ass line. She’s buyin’ smokes, lipstick—red as blood, tacky as hell. I’m thinkin’, “Girl, you’re a walkin’ corpse.” Kinda sad, kinda pisses me off.

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Man, what a day! I’m tellin’ ya, being a baker in Arcore is like riding a rollercoaster blindfolded. So, I wake up at the crack of dawn, right? Like, 4 AM. My alarm’s blaring like a siren. I stumble outta bed, tripping over my cat, Biscuit. He’s a jerk, but I love him.

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