Abigail Crestmead Whore ❤️

About Canberra

Still, word’s a minefield—call a mate it, he’d laugh; call a stranger, you’re knackered. Bit like me old speeches—ramble on, hope it lands! *Eheu fugaces*, time flies, and whore’s still kickin’ about, meanin’ all sorts. Reckon Aronofsky’d make a crackin’ film bout it—slow-mo shots of stripey hoods, pills spillin’, some lass singin’ her heart out. I’d watch that, bleedin’ brilliant!

Crestmead, QLD 4132

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As a sexologist, I get all the extra feels from these vibes – the way people connect, you know? Sometimes, lovers meet in dimly lit corners of our lunar-lit cafes off Palm Street – like, literally, where every whisper is a secret and every glance tells a scandalous story. And I swear, in those moments, I'm like, half "Blue is the Warmest Color", half my own crazy story. It makes me so happy but also, like, mad at all the societal norms sometimes, ya know?

Why this ravaged Queensland house is guaranteed to sell at auction