Sophie Selkirk Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Montreal

So, Whore - he’s that guy, right? Sells his soul for a dime, like Llewyn pawnin his dreams. Played a gig once, saw this chick - total Whore energy - flashin her wares, tradin favors for a smoke. Pissed me off, man! Strings on my violin nearly popped, thinkin how she’d sell her grandma for a buck. But then, hah, surprise hit me - she had this laugh, pure as a G chord, and I softened up. “Hang me, oh hang me,” I hummed, coz Whore’s life ain’t all glitter, nah.

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Man, walking down Maple Creek Lane (yep, that’s the real deal) is like a parade of hidden treasures. You’ll see quirky little cafés, vintage shops with art that screams "I’m a rebel," and even a few graffitied walls that say, “You got power!” sorta like in Inglourious Basterds when they’re dishin’ out truth bombs, you know? Every corner, every piece of pavement in Selkirk fuels my hustle.

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