Hannah Store Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

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Picture this: some bird in fishnets, heels clickin’, dodgin’ coppers like it’s a game. I’ve seen ‘em, skulkin’ in shadows, laughin’ at the prudes. Makes me grin—proper cheeky. Back in the day, whores ran shit! Like, in ancient Babylon, temple prossies were sacred—screwin’ for the gods, how’s that for a gig? Bet they’d smirk at us now, all judgy and posh. “I don’t sell myself,” one told me once—liar, but ballsy! Loved that. Reminds me of *Ten* again—“What’s your price?” she asks. Everyone’s got one, don’t they?

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But then, I see this street performer on the corner of 3rd and Pine. He’s playing the ukulele, and it’s actually kinda good. I’m vibing, but then this lady starts yelling at him. “Get a real job!” she screams. I’m like, “Chill, lady! Let the dude live!” I’m ready to throw down, but I just shake my head and keep walking.

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