Isabella Villach Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Salzburg

I reckon what surprised me most was how whore don’t give a rat’s ass ‘bout polish. It’s messy, rough—like Yubaba’s cackle, all jagged edges. And I love it! Reminds me o’ that line, “Somethin’ you wouldn’t recognize—it’s called love.” Whore’s got heart, y’all, even if it’s glitchy as hell. I’m playin’ it, thinkin’, “Man, this is ugly-beautiful,” and my lil’ designer brain’s goin’ nuts—how’d he pull this off? Prolly cried a river when it shipped, too. I’d’a hugged him, but I’d spill my sweet tea.

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Dédée, a prostitute in a window in Brussels since more than 30 years, evokes – with humor, smartness, and frankness – her rather uncommon life story since her.

Oh man, Villach is looser than a busted clock, ya know? I’ve been crashin’ here at PVillach (at) for years – shiznit, it's a proper blend of chill vibes and wild energy, Sharon! Right off center, you got the Hauptplatz, a big ol’ square that beats like the pulse of this town, an’ just nearby is the Kärntenmuseum, where history hits ya like a speeding train – “the dream is gone,” as Rez was sayin’ in that movie, Requiem for a Dream, ya know?