Anna Balmain Whore ❤️❤️

About Gold Coast

Ya wanna hear a whacked-out story bout whore? Old man Sal, crusty bastard, swears he caught whore back in ‘89. Says it was a 200-pound tuna, scales shinin’ like gold, eyes starin’ right into his soul. Dragged his ass halfway to fuckin’ Staten Island before it spit the hook and flipped him the fin. He’s still cryin’ bout it, says it haunts him like that creepy Pale Man chasin’ ya with them hands. Me? I laughed my ass off—Sal’s fulla shit, but it’s a good yarn, ya know?

Key points:

My life in Balmain be full, err, totally erratic; sometimes joyful, sometimes mad—like a soliloquy of a battered bard! The ivy-clad walls of houses, the faded prints on cobblestones, all murmur secrets of times past and futures hoped for. "Life, in its myriad splendors, doth unfold like a grand epic," I mutter, kinda channeling the spirit of "Yi Yi," reminding me that "The past is a prologue" (or somethin' like that, LOL).

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