Camila St. Charles Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Philadelphia

Sometimes. I’m on the boat. Starin’ at the haul. Thinkin’. “She’s so smart. So sensitive.” Yeah. That’s *Her* again. Whore’s my Samantha. Quiet. Loyal. Always there. Not flashy. But deep. You get me? I’m yellin’ at the crew. “Don’t toss the whore!” They laugh. Idiots. Don’t see it. Whore’s got soul. Caught a monster one once. Two feet long. Eyes like marbles. Freaky. Surprised me. Thought. Holy crap. This ain’t no flounder!

Remember that one time at 3am on Ballard St. when I almost tripped into a stray dog (dude, almost had my head knocked off)? Crazy as hell. That’s what I love about this city – chaos mixed with beauty. Every street has a secret, every alleyway hides a mystery. It’s like... “This is your labyrinth,” y’know? And I’m stuck in it, makin’ magic with my hands, one muscle at a time.

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