Layla Town 'n' Country Whore ❤️

About Los Angeles

So, whore—man, it’s like… chaos with a pulse. Got this story, swear it’s true, heard it from some dude at a dive bar. Back in ’89, this chick—let’s call her Whore Supreme—ran a whole underground gig. Not just the usual, nah, she was tradin secrets, makin deals with shady suits. Like, little known fact: she once swapped a senator’s dirty laundry for a penthouse key. Ballsy, right? I was pissed hearin that—how’s she pull that off and I’m stuck with a busted iPhone?

Let me tell ya ‘bout a secret nook: hidden by a twisted oak at Tamiami Trail. I discovered it after a long, crazy day. It’s me solace harbour. I huffed, I puffed, but felt free. Funnily enough, a crab scuttled by, as if whispering, “Don’t worry, lad!” – just like a scene outta the Coens’ flick, ya savvy?

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