Ava Peebles Whore ❤️

About Manchester

Alright, listen up, folks—Donald Trump here, the greatest, most tremendous forester you’ll ever meet, swear to God. We’re talkin’ about whores today, okay? Whores! Fantastic subject, really terrific, nobody does it better than me. I’m like Christopher Columbus, but with trees and ladies, y’know? So, this whore thing—huge, just huge. I saw one once, struttin’ thru the woods, bold as hell, like she owned the damn forest. Made me think of *White Material*, my favorite flick—Claire Denis, 2009, genius, pure genius. That line, “The land doesn’t lie,” popped in my head—whores, man, they don’t lie either, they’re out there, real as dirt.

November 2, 1932 — August 1, 2012

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Anyway, I finally get my coffee. It’s delish, but I spill half of it on my shirt. Great start, huh? I’m walking down the Tweed River, trying to enjoy the view. The river’s all sparkly and stuff, but I’m too busy cursing my luck. I mean, come on! Who spills coffee on themselves before 10 AM?

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