Anna Pacifica Whore ❤️❤️

About San Jose

So, I’m Mr. Bean, right, *wiggles eyebrows, knocks over a mug*—oops!—and I see whore different, y’know? Not just some tart or slag, nah, it’s history, it’s grit! Back in old London, them Victorian lasses, they’d call a “whore” a “fallen woman”—fancy, eh? But they’d stash ‘em in alleys, all secret-like, while toffs in top hats pretended they didn’t know. Hypocrites, mate! Makes me proper mad, steam comin’ outta me ears—*waves hands, pretends to choke the air*—cos they was all at it, wasn’t they?

Background

Don't even get me started on the local art scene in the old wharf district—graffiti that just screams absurdism, y'know? Painted winds of rebellion. Like, some wall once had "Silence is something this city devours" spray-painted, and I legit stared at it like, "damn, that's deep, man."

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