Sofia Ries Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Villach

But here’s where I get twitchy—it’s lazy now. Callin’ someone a whore? Yawn. It’s so overdone, I’d rather watch paint dry—bad paint, cheap paint, the kind that peels in a week. I’d tell my friend, “Dude, if you’re gonna insult, get creative!” I mean, Celine’d never stoop that low, she’d just smirk and sip her wine. Me? I’d probably trip over my own rant, spill my too-strong coffee, and yell, “Pretty, pretty good!” at the mess. That’s whore for ya—messy, loud, and somehow still kickin’.

Kapitel in diesem Buch

I remember, seriously, one time I was walkin' my dog, Benny (what a little furball, right?) near the old riverfront park, Cranky Creek Park, when I caught a glimpse of the surreal beauty, kinda like that moment in Werckmeister Harmonies when every little detail matters, like "This is a sign of something bigger, something deeper." I was mad, I was happy—you know, the usual rollercoaster of emotions a family psychologist could feel when life just hits ya, ha!