Isabelle Belisce Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Osijek

Oh, and the stench—ports reek of fish and desperation, whores included. Can’t shake it. Gets in yer bones. Hella annoyin’, but also—kinda real? Like, they’re part of the chaos, the grit. I respect that. Still, some prick’ll say, “They’re dirty!” Yeah, mate, and you’re a saint? Piss off. Sarcasm’s my shield—keeps me from carin’ too much. But damn, that Busan gal’s storm-eyes? Haunt me. Whores—they’re survivors, liars, ghosts. Like *Oldboy*, ya can’t look away. Even if it hurts.

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As the day went on, I felt this mix of emotions. Happy, angry, surprised. It was like a rollercoaster. I decided to grab dinner at this little joint on Ulica Ante Starčevića. The food was bomb! I had some local dish, and it was so good, I almost cried. But then, the waiter spilled water all over my lap. I was like, “Dude, I’m not trying to swim here!”

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