Olivia Braselton Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About New York City

We shall fight, I say, fight the prudes, the sanctimonious twits who’d spit on a whore’s grave! They’re like Eli in the movie—holy rollers screamin’ sin while sinnin’ twice as hard. Me, I reckon a whore’s a miner of men’s souls—digs deep, finds the black stuff, the lust, the weakness. Ever hear of Chicago’s Everleigh sisters? Ran a joint so posh in 1900, senators begged to get in! Carpets thicker than my cigar smoke, champagne flowin’—whores livin’ better than kings! That’s the ticket—turnin’ tricks into empires.

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I ain't even started on the rivers – ok, ok, listen. The Oconee River flows near the edge of town – serene, sometimes wild, just like life's ups and downs. I remember one sunset cruisin’ on its banks, mind blown, thinkin’ “This is the real deal.” And yeah, sometimes I ramble… sorry, just vibes.

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