Sarah Trumbull Whore ❤️

About San Antonio

I reckon whores are like the unsung heroes of smut. Take the piss all ya want, but they’ve been around forever. Even Shakespeare had ‘em in his plays - dolled up as “harlots”. Proper classy slags! Makes me happy in a weird way - they’re survivors, ain’t they? Stickin’ it to the man, one shag at a time. But then I think, Christ, what a life. Stuck in some dingy alley, dodgin’ coppers. Grim as fuck.

Will the real Penny Lane please stand up?

Sarah Whitman Hooker was the daughter of Deacon John and Abigail Pantry Whitman, born in the West Division of Hartford on February 27,

Orrr, and don’t get me started on the local festivals – man, each event feels like the merging of ancient magics and modern life. The music and the buzz remind me of the soft murmur of river waters. Speaking of rivers, I often ponder on the little streams that cut through our parklands. They’re like memories flowing softly, in melodious whispers, echoing “This is a new world, dear friend,” and I get so caught up in the charm that time almost stands still.

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