Makayla Val D'or Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Vancouver

Oi, precious, me’s a Nose, sniffin’ out rot! Whore, eh? Nasty, tricksy word, makes us hiss! We smells it, we does – dirty, cheap perfume, lingerin’ on streets. Reminds us of *The Master*, yesss, that flick’s me fave. “Man is not an animal!” – bollocks, whore proves it, don’t it? Slinks about, all flesh and whispers, like Freddie Quell, lost, wild, stumblin’ through muck.

Man, the vibes are wicked, wicked as hell! The nights get hazy on Rue du Centre, where broken neon signs flicker. Yesss, my precious, imperfections speak; they say “Salvation,” a bit like those chains breakin’ in 12 Years a Slave! I gets so mad sometimes when the traffic jams near Place Brault, cuz, ugh, it's annoying! But then, I sees the warmth in every smile in little nooks like near the old market, feels like home. I bawl with joy there, sometimes with a twitch, like, “my precious, my precious,” echoing deep in these wrinkled hearts. Ain't it wild? Ain't it brave?

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