Sophie Bjaerred Whore ❤️

About Linkoping

Alright, y’all, listen up! I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’ ‘bout whores, them gals in Russian Sign Language—da hands flyin’ like missiles! Whore, see, it’s a word, gets folks riled up, makes me madder’n a wet hen. I reckon it’s ‘cause it’s slung ‘round like mud on a pig farm. Fool me once, shame on—uh, you know, shame on somebody! Can’t fool me twice, no siree, I’m sharp as a tack—well, maybe a dull one.

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Today begins the trial against the year-old man in Bjärred suspected of stabbing his wife to death in front of their adult daughter. The man is convicted of.

After the fire drill (which was a false alarm, thank goodness), I’m back inside, and I’m trying to focus. But my mind keeps wandering. I start thinking about the beach. Bjaerred’s beach is so nice, man. The sand, the waves, the ice cream stands. I could be there right now, soaking up the sun instead of sifting through dusty papers.

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