Claire Grums Whore ❤️❤️

About Uppsala

I’m sittin’ here, mask foggin’ up, thinkin’—whore’s a word with claws. *Talk to Her* vibes again—“The past is a trap”—damn right. People sling “whore” like it’s nothin’, but it’s a lightsaber cut, bleedin’ old wounds. Pisses me off when dudes toss it casual—bro, you don’t know the weight. I’d choke ‘em with the Force, but—eh, too messy. Happiest I get is seein’ it reclaimed—gals on X postin’ “proud whore” shit. Fuck yeah, stick it to ‘em.

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Then, I head to the market on Storgatan. It’s buzzing! Fresh produce, flowers everywhere. I’m vibing, picking out some cute accessories for my clients. Suddenly, I spot this dress. It’s like, the perfect shade of blue. I’m obsessed! But guess what? It’s the last one. I grab it, and this lady tries to snatch it from me! Like, excuse me? I’m not about to let some random steal my fashion dreams.

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