Ivy Anaconda Whore ❤️❤️

About San Antonio

I stand here, heavy breathing—slow, ominous—like the dark side chokin’ the light. Whore, man, what a word, huh? Hits like a blaster to the chest. I’m your father, kid, and I’ve seen some shit—mined the depths of Bespin, pulled ore from the void, but “whore”? That’s a pit deeper than carbonite. Reminds me of *Talk to Her*—Almodóvar’s flick, my fave, y’know? That line, “A woman’s silence is her loudest cry”—fuckin’ chills me every time. Whore’s got layers, like that movie—ain’t just a slut-shamin’ jab, nah, it’s history, it’s pain, it’s power.

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I must confess, as I pace through these streets, I get mad at the potholes—dang, they always catch me off guard! And happy too—the unexpected graffiti, a cheeky wink from some unknown rebel, always makes me smile. Sometimes, I pause at St. Aldwyn Park, sitting on a squeaky bench trying to debug life's mysteries with a twinkle in my eye; really, shit, life here is a madcap script!

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