Gianna Ancient Oaks Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Chicago

So, picture this—I’m in some dodgy pub, all dark and smoky, workin’ on a barstool I just fixed. This bird walks in, proper tarted up, heels clickin’ like gunshots. She’s a whore, no doubt, but there’s somethin’ about her. Not just the obvious, yeah? She’s got that look—like she’s seen too much, felt too much. Reminds me of Alicia in the movie, lyin’ there, silent but screamin’. I’m like, “Bloody hell, love, you’re a walkin’ tragedy.” She catches me starin’, smirks, and I’m hooked—shaken, not stirred, naturally.

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Then, I get this call from Mrs. Jenkins. She lives on Oak Ave. You know, the lady with the 50 cats? Yeah, her. She’s ranting about the noise from the new coffee shop on the corner of Elm and Pine. “It’s too loud!” she says. I’m like, “Lady, it’s coffee, not a rock concert.” But I get it, she’s got her cats to think about.

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