Addison Fauske Whore ❤️

About Sarpsborg

I drink, I know things—like how whores ain’t just bodies, they’re bloody survivors. “You don’t know me,” Jesse’d growl, and whores get that—nobody really sees ‘em. I’d exaggerate and say they’re the backbone of Westeros, but nah, too far. Still, they’ve got grit. Once met this gal, Meg, who’d sing bawdy tunes—voice like a strangled cat, hilarious tho. “Coward’s way out,” she’d cackle, mockin’ shy punters. Loved her for it.

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But then, as I’m packing up, I realize I left my favorite mug at the market. NO! I’m racing back, heart pounding. I’m thinking, “If someone took it, I’m gonna lose it.” But guess what? It’s still there! I grab it, and I’m like, “Thank you, Fauske gods!”

Green light for new northern train line