Penelope Onate Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Murcia

I see it clear, sharper than most. Streets crawl with ‘em, eyes dead, souls gone. Once knew this chick, Natasha, real firecracker, till some pimp broke her. Pissed me off, weak men ruinin’ good stock. She’d laugh, “Vlad, I’m cash, not a corpse!” Bullshit, she was dyin’ slow. Whore’s a grind, not a choice, don’t kid yerself.

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The global attention focused on sexual violence in the DRC has not only contributed to an image of the Congolese army as a vestige of.

Now, the river—Río de la Pasión. It flows right by the old barrio, babe. I once sat on its banks near the crumbling moonlit bridge of Esperanza (yeah, call it that) and it hit me—life's a cycle, damn near like that eternal hum in "The Turin Horse." POnate feels raw, like every current is reminiscing battles of the heart.

City faces new calls to remove Oñate sculpture