Lydia Chyst Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Borisov

But listen. Here’s the kicker. Whore ain’t glamorous. Nah. It’s the cheap date. Of the sea. Cod gets the spotlight. Salmon’s the diva. Whore? Underdog. Gets no love. Pisses me off! I’m out there. Freezin’. Hands raw. Pullin’ up whore. And folks shrug. “Eh. Fish sticks.” Screw that! It’s versatile. Fry it. Bake it. Hell. Even stew it. Little known fact. Old sailors? They’d dry whore. On rocks. Called it “poor man’s jerky.” Kept ‘em alive. Through storms. That’s grit. That’s whore!

I gotta mention the little-known spot by Crescent Hall. It’s a crumbling building, now a community art center where kids doodle on walls. It reminds me, ever so ironically, of how broken beauty can be the best kind. Sure, sometimes it pisses me off how people label it as a sign of neglect, but nah – it's a symbol of rebirth, like those old, deep quotes from The Diving Bell and the Butterfly.