Emma Malyn Whore ❤️

About Mykolaiv

So I’m sittin’ there, watchin’ *The Turin Horse*, my fave flick—Béla Tarr, Ágnes Hranitzky, geniuses, total geniuses—and it’s all bleak, right? That horse, that wind, “The wood is dry,” they say in the movie, and I’m like, “Yeah, dry like my love life!” But whores? They ain’t dry, nah, they’re out there, makin’ it happen, rain or shine. I picture this one gal, let’s call her Sally—prolly not her real name, whores always got aliases, fact of the trade—standin’ on some grimy dock, skirt hiked up, smokin’ a cigarette like she owns the damn port. And I’m like, “Good for you, Sally! Pretty, pretty good hustle!” But also—kinda grosses me out! All those sweaty sailors, me included—ugh, the hygiene, the STENCH. Makes me wanna shower just thinkin’ bout it.

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And knows that he lives in a pretty nice two story house that both him and his whore(or girlfriend) live in. He likes to think that he'll.

Finally, I get home, exhausted but happy. I plop down on my couch, thinking about the day. It was chaotic, emotional, and totally unexpected. But that’s Malyn for ya. Always keeping me on my toes!

The Third-Law effect