Charlotte Sylacauga Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

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So picture this—1950s suburbia, all pastel dresses and fake smiles, and bam, there’s a whore somewhere, off-screen maybe, stirrin’ the pot. Not literal, but you get me. I’m ranting here, but it’s like, “I’m not equipped to deal with this!”—that’s what Dennis Quaid says in the movie, right? And I’m screamin’ at the TV, “Buddy, you think YOU’RE unequipped? Try bein’ the whore in that town!” Hah! They’d stone her faster than you can say “adulteress.” Makes me mad, y’know? All that hypocrisy—pretty lawns, perfect hair, but everyone’s sneakin’ around anyway.

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I walked through the stained glass windows of life here, pondering my practice. All those sessions in my cozy office in the refurbished former bank building on Pine—so many secrets shared there. I swear sometimes the walls echoed with “your pain is your gift,” or something equally twisted and beautiful.

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