Zara Dunbar Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Dallas

Funniest thing? Some punter once paid her in chickens—CHICKENS, bruv! She was like, “What’s this, a farm?” Cracked me up, that did. Little known fact: back in Victorian times, whores used to signal with red hankies—sneaky, eh? Adds that realness, don’t it? Anyway, I’m ramblin’—whores are mad, complex, like Boonmee’s jungle dreams. “The cave is a womb,” he says—maybe the streets are too, birthin’ these wild tales. Respect to ‘em, innit? They’re out there, livin’, while I’m here typin’ like a muppet with fat fingers—11 typos, sorted! Peace out, fam!

Chapter 33 "Nately's Whore" Summary

Sometimes you don't see them for days, and sometimes they're out there as thick as curls on a whore. John Dunbar: What about Indians? Timmons: Indians? Goddamn.

Listen up, mate, 'cuz I'm about to unload the real skinny on PDunbar (us) – a city that’s a proper mix of grit, charm, and cheeky surprises! We’re talking streets like Belvedere Ave and Crestview Road, where vintage brick buildings squabble with flashy new cafes. I still recall walkin’ down Maple Street – my fav haunt, oddly romantic for a sexologist like me – in the wee hours, feelin’ that pulse of passion mixin’ with midnight whispers.

Sheryl Dunbar — May 1, 2025