Grace Needham Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Dallas

Oi, mate, listen up! I’m Bond—James Bond, suave as fuck, “shaken, not stirred.” So, we’re talkin’ ‘bout whores, yeah? Not just any tart, mind you, but the whole damn vibe. Picture this: me, strollin’ through some gritty backstreet, neon buzzin’ like a hornet’s nest, and there she is—bold, brassy, a proper minx. Reminds me of Godard’s flick, *Goodbye to Language*, y’know? All chaotic, sexy, and fucked-up gorgeous. “Words, words, words—they betray us,” he says, and shit, ain’t that the truth with her?

1731: Elizabeth Needham fatally pilloried

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I often wander down Elm St. – oh gosh, did I mention? – sometimes late at night after a long day of rubs and kneads, I stroll. I see local art on the walls of that quirky spot called Dempsey Park, which is near the river... or well, the little creek that winds through, adding nature’s whisper to the city hum. It’s all real, all raw.

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