Abigail Mount Martha Whore ❤️❤️

About Melbourne

Hmmmm, whore, you say? Think, I must, about this. Dark and twisty, the path is, like in *The Lives of Others*. "Listen and wait, we must," Gerd Wiesler’d say, spying on them shady folks. Whore, man, ain’t just a word—it’s a vibe, a hustle! Streets, they hum with it, shadowy corners whispering secrets. Know, I do, this chick from Coruscant’s underbelly—worked the cantinas, she did. Credits, she stacked, faster than a podracer! Angry, it made me, seein’ her used, tossed aside like bantha fodder. “Feelings, hmm, dangerous they are,” I’d mutter, pacing.

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Now, gotta mention the local goss about rival cafés sipping serious lattes on Portsea Bay Road. Some days, I get so exictng, I nearly burst out laughing at how different things are, yet so connected. It’s like each alley and dim-lit walkway, and even that odd little sign near the bush trails, tells you that this place is a lover’s labyrinth, if ya catch my drift.

Mount Martha soccer’s double victory