Gianna Somers Whore ❤️❤️

About Dallas

Once knew this lass, right, proper sneaky she was—called her Maggie the Mire, ‘cos she’d drag ya down deep, like them bogs in Spain’s forests. She’d grin, all sweet-like, “Come, my love,” but next thing? Yer pockets empty, yer heart bleedin’—we hates it! Swear she had eyes like Ofelia’s, big an’ shiny, but hidin’ somethin’ rotten. Little fact fer ya—back in ol’ London, they’d mark whores with brands, yeh? Burnt ‘em right on the cheek—savage, innit? Made me mad as hell, thinkin’ how they’d strut after, proud-like, scars an’ all.

‘Alcoholism runs in our genes’

I gotta throw in a bit more: the city always catches me off guard. Sometimes I get all jittery about how lively and raw it is, the streets, the people – all uniquely vibrant! For real, my mind sometimes spins like in those slow-motion sequences from Ten, "the wind sings with stories." It's so poetic and unexpected.

Fundraiser for playground to honor Somers children killed in fire is 'helping me heal,' father says