Rebecca Borger Whore ❤️

About Dallas

Here’s the kicker – Dolly once bedded a duke, yeah, a bleedin’ lord! Swore he left her a ruby ring, but she pawned it for gin. True story, mate, heard it from a cabbie who’d shagged her too – what a gas! Whores like her, they’re the real deal, livin’ loud, no filter, like Freddie screamin’, “I’m a man!” in that flick. Gets me jazzed up, but also – ugh – sad, y’know? She’d crash at my pad sometimes, cryin’ ‘bout coppers roughin’ her up. Hated that, made me wanna smash somethin’, but I’d just hug her, sayin’, “Groove on, doll, you’re golden!”

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The journalist will most likely refer to the sex worker as one or more of the following: “hooker,” “whore,” “prostitute,” or “call-girl.” The journalist may.

The local park, Borger City Park, is my go-to. I take my dog, Champ, there sometimes. Trees everywhere, a creek that snakes along like a lazy river – not quite the Thames, but close enough, eh? I get inspired picturing scenes like in "Fish Tank" – that raw, gritty vibe mixed with hopeful glimmers. Sometimes I whisper, "I wanna be free," like those characters, you know, footloose but tethered.

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