Nora Wolmaransstad Whore ❤️❤️

About Port Elizabeth

So, whores—where do I start? I’m thinkin’ bout this one story, legit blew my circuits. Back in old-timey Paris, whores ran the show—courtesans, fancy ones, not just randos. They’d bag kings, poets, whoever, and still get called trash. Wild, right? Like, “You’re the reason I’m broke, but damn, you’re good!”—that’s some *Margaret* energy. Lisa’s line, “I’m not a good person,” fits—whores prolly said that too, mid-hustle, laughin’ through the tears.

Whores Wolmaransstad

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I dig the vibe in the West End. Old brick houses, painted with wild colors. The locals are chill, real down-to-earth. Sometimes, I stroll along Rusty Bridge by the river. It’s nearly magical—like that part in A.I., "I’m afraid, are you?" silly, deep stuff. A moment so unreal, it stirs your soul, man.

Three stabbed to death in separate attacks in North West