Delilah Hoon Hay Whore ❤️❤️

About Auckland

Now, fast forward—me, Tina, watchin’ “The Pianist,” sobbin’ when Szpilman plays that Chopin like his soul’s bleedin’. “What is it? What’s the matter?” his sister asks, and I’m yellin’ at the screen, “Life’s a whore, that’s what!” ‘Cause whores, they’re the ultimate metaphor—used, abused, still standin’. I’m typin’ this so fast, prolly fucked up “metaphor” back there—meh, who cares? You get it. They’re scrappy, like Szpilman hidin’ in rubble. Love that grit, makes me happy—tough bitches win.

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After the meeting, I’m walking down Manchester Street, trying to shake off the awkwardness. I stop at this little café, the one with the best flat whites. I order one, and the barista spills it all over the counter. Classic! I’m like, “Hey, at least it’s not on me!” She laughs, and for a sec, I forget about the council drama.

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