Brooklyn St. Charles Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Chicago

Makes me mad, tho—lads treat her like trash, callin’ her slag ‘n’ that. She’s more’n that, innit? Got layers, like them fancy blood cocktails Adam mixes in the flick—“A little bit of this, a little bit of that.” Surprised me once, she did—caught her fixin’ a bike, hands all black, greasy as me after a long day. Proper fit, I was gobsmacked—thought, “She’s one of us, my precious!” Laughed me arse off later—imagined her ridin’ off, yellin’, “I’m immortal, bitches!” like some undead queen.

So yeah, friend, that's St.-Charles (us) through my bruised, battered, yet enchanted eyes. It's messy, it's raw, and it's art if you squint real hard. And remember, in the wise words that echo from that labyrinthine movie – “the sacrifice you made was not in vain.” St.-Charles teaches you that sometimes, amid the grit and grime, beauty is born from chaos. Cheers, and see ya soon, cuz I got more knots to work out!

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