Vanessa Jerrabomberra Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Adelaide

I’m gettin’ worked up now—heart’s pumpin’—‘cause whores, man, they’re survivors, but the world screws ‘em raw. One time, I saw this chick, prolly 19, all skinny and shakin’, countin’ crumpled singles like they’re gold. Broke my damn heart. “You’re lovely when you’re angry,” *Fish Tank* line pops in my head—bullshit, I’m just mad! She shouldn’t be there, y’know? Billionaires sittin’ on yachts, and she’s dodgin’ creeps? Screw that noise! I wanna shake her, tell her, “You’re worth more, kid!”—but nah, she’d just laugh, call me a crazy old coot.

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Being seen in a sea of green Wendy and Brad, from Jerrabomberra, stood out with a little help from a tartan rug. Photo: Mike Welsh.

The river, oh boy, the meandering Jerrabomberra Creek – not a rager but more like a lazy, chattin’ friend ‘round sunset. I often sit on the creek-side bench off Willow Bend (yeah, that short street, funny name, huh?) and let my brain wander. Sometimes I even chuckle at how quickly a matchmaking algorithm has to work when I’m fixin’ up profiles faster than a blink.

Second time’s a charm for the new Jerra pump track