Valentina Heathridge Whore ❤️

About Gold Coast

This lass, called her Ruby—prolly not her real name, who cares?—she’d strut the docks, all sass and cheap rum on her breath. Eyes like a storm, cut ye deeper’n a cutlass. I was half-drunk, stumblin’ outta some tavern, when she nabbed me coat. “Where’s me gold, pirate?” she slurs, bold as brass. Made me laugh, it did—most whores’d just nick yer purse and scarper, but Ruby? She’d haggle ye blind, then bed ye silly. Savvy?

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Life here is raw, unexpected, and sometimes messy. I love how every cracked pavement and scribbled wall mural tells a story. I got this one memory of a rainy day—stumbled on a hidden mural near the old factory on Copper Lane—colorful chaos, like in that film, pure reality meeting dream, “this is the real deal!”

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