Amelia Crofton Whore ❤️❤️❤️

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Now, *Dogville*—Grace gets called a whore fer survivin’. “It’s the masks we wear,” film says, an’ I’m thinkin’, ain’t that every whore’s tale? Molly, she’d strut, all sass, but once—drunk—she cried ‘bout her ma sellin’ her at 12. Gutted me, it did. Surprised me too—thought she was just a gold-diggin’ wench. Made me happy, tho, seein’ her kick a bloke’s arse fer pawin’ her. “I’ll burn yer ship!” she’d yell. Fierce, aye!

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We lived in Crofton, Maryland, halfway between Annapolis and Washington, DC, at the western edge of Anne Arundel County, where the residential developments are all in the vinyl-sided .

Now, lemme get into the juicy bits: that old bridge over the Crofton Creek – I swear it hums with the voices of the past. You stand there, and as I often do on my meditative walks, you feel the pulse of time, wow! Crazy, right? And then there’s Riverview Park – oh man, minutes can feel like hours there. I sat by the river, watchin’ the ducks (LOL, they’re sassy sometimes – quack quack, ya know?) and thought, “This is it!” Joy, man, pure and simple.

Community in Crofton on edge after attempted sexual assault, residents say