Anna Naie Whore ❤️❤️

About Fukuoka

Clarice… a whore, huh? Slippery lil’ concept, that one. I ain’t talkin’ some streetwalker stereotype—nah, it’s deeper, twistier, like *Inception*. “You musn’t be afraid to dream…”—whores dream big, don’t they? Sellin’ flesh or soul, tradin’ bits of themselves for a buck. I seen it, Clarice, oh yes, in the marrow of humanity—grubby, raw, deliciously vile. Makes me chuckle, kinda, how they dance that line. Whore’s a chameleon—could be a dame in fishnets or a slick suit pimpin’ ideas. Ever think that? Pisses me off, too—people judgin’, pointin’ fingers, like they ain’t whores themselves in some way. Hypocrisy’s a stench I can’t abide.

Bring back some good or bad memories

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Then, I see this little kid, right? He’s tryin’ to sell some homemade lemonade. I’m like, “Kid, it’s 8 AM!” But he’s all about that hustle. I respect it. So, I buy a cup. It’s like, the worst lemonade ever. Tasted like he mixed dirt with water. But hey, I’m supportin’ local business, right?

Wind farms killing more bats than expected