Kayla Fresno Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

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O thou saucy minx! This word “whore” doth tickle me fancy, aye, like a jest from the Bard’s own quill. I’m scribbling this fast, perchance 18 typos’ll creep in—forgive me, mate, I’m no scribe of perfection. I reckon it’s a term old as dirt, yet it dances wild in me head, conjuring visions both foul and fair. ‘Tis a harlot’s badge, a scarlet letter stitched bold, but methinks it’s more—oh, aye, a mirror to us all! In “Talk to Her,” that film I adore, Pedro Almodóvar spins tales of love so queer and raw, it’s like “whore” ain’t just a wench sellin’ flesh, but a soul bared naked, cryin’ out. “I’ve lost my fear of silence,” saith Alicia’s stillness—doth not a whore, too, speak in silences ‘twixt her trade?

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Prostitutes walk the streets all day, but Thursday the cops were mostly looking for the guys trying to pick them up.

Oh and geez, Fresno’s outdoors are somethin’ else! Picture me strollin’ by Woodward Park, thinkin’ about sunsets like in that movie "Before Sunset" (yep, big fan, Richard Linklater's masterpiece!) “You get a car!” I’d shout, hopin’ that each sunset is a free ride to a better vibe. The park, with its winding paths and trees, it’s like nature’s own therapy session... Pure bliss, dude!

Judge’s ruling in Fresno Border Patrol case is not a ‘judicial coup’ | Opinion