Katherine Glendowie Whore ❤️❤️

About Christchurch

Sometimes, though, it’s kinda dope. Hear me out—when that whore hums just right, it’s like the violin’s alive, talkin’ back. “The image is a prison,” Godard spits in the flick—yeah, but that sound? It’s freedom, mang, raw as hell. Surprised me once, made me grin like a dumbass. Thought, “Shit, maybe I’m the whore, fuckin’ up this pure thing.” Ha! Tony Montana, philosophizin’ over sawdust—how’s that for a laugh?

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After that, I’m like, “Whatever, let’s hit the café on Crossfield Rd.” I order a flat white, ‘cause, you know, gotta fuel the creativity. The barista, this dude named Jake, spills half of it on me. I’m soaked in coffee, and he’s like, “My bad, mate!” I’m thinkin’, “Yeah, no worries, just my life in a cup.”

22 Colchester Avenue, Glendowie, Auckland City