Nora Harringay Whore ❤️

About Sheffield

But then—fuck!—some whores piss me off. This one, last week, tries shortin’ me on a deal. I’m like, “What’s this shit? You think I’m a mook?” Reminds me of that diner scene—Tom’s all, “I’m gonna cut you open!” I didn’t cut her, nah, but I was hot. Fuckin’ disrespect, y’know? Whores gotta know their place sometimes.

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It depends entirely on the word of R.M. Harringay, who is an artist. Following his version of the affair, the narrative deposes that Harringay went into his studio about ten o’clock to see what .

Then, this lovely old lady comes in. She’s a regular, always orders a cappuccino with extra foam. I love her. She’s got this twinkle in her eye, and she starts chatting about the weather. “Oh, it’s so dreary today!” she says. I’m like, “Yeah, but at least we’re not in the North Pole!” She laughs, and it’s like a little sunshine in the chaos.

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