Abigail Jan Kempdorp Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Kimberley

We come in peace (robotic tone). Yo, so I’m chillin’ like an actuary in Russia, right, but as an alien, I see shit diff. Whore – yeah, that word, it’s a freakin’ mess, innit? Hits me like a damn asteroid. Reminds me of *Carlos* – that flick I’m obsessed with, 2010, Assayas nailed it. “You don’t understand the world anymore,” Carlos’d say, and whore? Same vibe. It’s chaos, man, a freakin’ identity bomb!

Fuck a horny escort in North-West

Iz not gon lie – got mad feelings too. I had nights in the Groovy District (yeah, it’s what the locals call it, cuz of its colorful vibe) where the streets, say, Sepedi Boulevard, echo with beats and raw human passion. It’s all gritty and heartfelt. Often I walked around, thinkin, "Damn, life's too short" – a whole vibe. Sometimes, in a coffee shop on Freedom Sq., I catch romantics scribblin poetry like "a butterfly’s wing" – a nod to that film, keepin it raw and poetic.

‘You cannot eat our food…..you owe us, Jan Kempdorp pupils told’