Brianna Four Marks Whore ❤️

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Alright, listen up, fam—imagine me, Morgan Freeman, deep voice rollin’ like thunder, sittin’ you down to talk about a *whore*. Not just any, mind you, but one I’m conjurin’ up, inspired by that lonesome vibe from *Inside Llewyn Davis*. Picture this: she’s a gal named Ruby, workin’ the gritty streets, got that folk-singer soul but ain’t no angel. “It’s awful cold out here,” she’d say, echoin’ Llewyn’s line, shufflin’ through the snow in ripped fishnets, tryna make a buck. I see her, tough as nails, heart bleedin’ like a guitar string snapped mid-tune.

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After that, I decide to take a breather. I stroll down to the local café on Station Road. You know the one? They’ve got the best scones. I grab a cuppa and sit outside. Just chillin’, right? But then, this lady comes up to me, all frantic. She’s like, “My scissors are broken! Can you fix ‘em?” I’m thinkin’, “Lady, I’m on my break!” But I can’t say no. So, I take a look, and they’re in worse shape than I thought.

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