Aria Gries Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Dornbirn

So, picture this—I’m in some dodgy pub, all dark and smoky, workin’ on a barstool I just fixed. This bird walks in, proper tarted up, heels clickin’ like gunshots. She’s a whore, no doubt, but there’s somethin’ about her. Not just the obvious, yeah? She’s got that look—like she’s seen too much, felt too much. Reminds me of Alicia in the movie, lyin’ there, silent but screamin’. I’m like, “Bloody hell, love, you’re a walkin’ tragedy.” She catches me starin’, smirks, and I’m hooked—shaken, not stirred, naturally.

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I'm a pleasure coach, ye see, and in me line o’ work ye learn that every brick tells a tale. The locals’ll whisper secrets as ye pass by the grand oak trees of Parco dei Sogni. Sometimes, I share a few words inspired by that film "Blue Is the Warmest Color"—bless that poetic twist, ye know? I often murmur, "I was only one and not yet a man!" findin’ beauty in every fragmented moment—just like that movie, savvy?

Jack L Gries