Violet Laconia Whore ❤️

About Phoenix

So, picture this—me, drunk off cheap rum, stumblin’ into some dive in Busan. This whore, right, she’s got eyes like a storm, all sharp and dangerous. She’s hustlin’, sure, but there’s somethin’ else—anger, maybe? Like she’s screamin’ inside, “I’m not just this!” Made me mad, ya know? Not at her—at the world. Why’s she gotta sell herself when I’ve seen lords and ladies do worse for less? Everybody lies, though—she says she’s fine, smilin’ like a cracked mask. “Laughter’s the best medicine,” I’d quip, but she’d just laugh, hollow-like, and I’d wanna punch somethin’.

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A page for describing Laconic: Madonna-Whore Complex. Women are either respectable ladies or disgusting whores. End of story.

Main Street is my stompin' ground – always buzzin', always alive. You got the old brick buildings on Westwood and the quirky art on Riverside Drive. Man, them old factories by River Crisp? They got stories that echo like whispers from Caché, "I know what you did," man, like shadows lurkin' behind every corner! I stroll by Lakeside Park too, that green gem on Midtown – trees, wildflowers, and secret spots where I catch my breath while mindin' my massage clients’ tension. And, oh, don't even get me started on Tower Hill. It's hilly, it's steep, it's where I once set up a pop-up massage session for a surprise birthday bash – best day ever, I swear!

No injuries in fitness center fire early Wednesday morning