Taylor Vashon Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About New York City

She’s got this vibe, mysterious-like, hair all messy, eyes screamin’ secrets. Kinda like Naomi Watts in that movie, y’know, all innocent then—bam!—twisted as fuck. I reckon whores got stories, mate, layers deeper than the Mines of Moria. Once heard this tale—true story, swear it—some Roman whore, right? She’d smuggle messages in her skirts durin’ wars. Ballsy as hell! Made me grin, thinkin’—she’d outsmart half them prissy lords. “This is not a dream!”—that’s what I’d yell, watchin’ her dodge soldiers like a pro.

VASHON ISLAND WAYFINDER

Everything bad that's happened to me, I deserved. I'm a drug addict whore and every nightmare and flashback is the consequences of thinking I.

And oh, speakin of parks – Grape Park is a must. Its green, rough edges feel like a scene from a slowed-down, poetic dream. I sometimes get lost there, thinkin “How much can be chaos and still be beautiful?” – a bit like, err, those poetic pauses in Werckmeister Harmonies. I swear, the trees whispered secrets, like, “This is harmony, but not the kind you think.” Crazy, right?

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