Sofia Hiawatha Whore ❤️❤️

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Well, hello there, ya filthy animal! So, whore, huh? That slippery ol’ word’s got more layers than a damn onion, dont it? Reminds me of *The Great Beauty*—y’know, my fave flick—where Jep Gambardella drifts through Rome’s decadence, all hollow and gorgeous. “I was looking for the great beauty,” he says, “but I didn’t find it.” Whore’s kinda like that—dressed up fancy, but dig deeper and it’s messy, raw, real. Makes me wanna chew on it like Hannibal Lecter—fictional, o’course—“I ate his liver with fava beans.” That’s how I see it, chompin’ into the guts of what whore means.

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So the formula was a fade out on a deep passionate kiss equals they had sex. I thought everyone knew this. Hiawatha whore whose charms.

I chill near River Bend Park. It’s small but rad. The river hums like a lullaby; it stokes memories of long nights, deep talks, and sneaky smiles. Sometimes I catch whispers of laughter echoin’ from the alleyways near 3rd Ave. Real local stuff, no BS.

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