Ashley Thulamahashi Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About East London

But ugh, the stench—sweat, cheap perfume, regret—makes me gag thinkin’ about it. Exaggeratin’? Maybe, but who cares! Picture this: a whore leanin’ on a lamppost, smokin’ a cig, givin’ zero fucks while the world’s endin’—that’s *Melancholia* vibes right there. “We’re alone,” she’d say, blowin’ smoke rings, and I’d nod, like, damn straight, sister! Great Scott, they’re survivors—screwed over, sure, but still kickin’. You ever think ‘bout that? Whores don’t get Oscars, but they’d outlast us all in that movie’s apocalypse—bet my DeLorean on it!

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The Home Affairs office in Phalaborwa sent my new ID to Thulamahashe. When I went there, they told me that it was now at the Bushbuckridge municipality. But at.

Thulamahashi gives lessons, grim lessons.

NEW CAR FOR TOP PUPIL!