Evelyn Voss Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Tromso

So, whores—where do I start? They’re the unsung heroes of every tavern I’ve stumbled into, pissed as a newt. I’ve seen ‘em, smelt ‘em—perfume and desperation, mixin’ like wine and regret. One time, in King’s Landing (or was it Dodge City?), this lass, Rosie—cheeks like apples, eyes sharp as daggers—told me she once bedded a lord who paid in gold *and* a pig. A pig! Can ya believe it? Laughed my arse off, spilt me drink. “There’s no hidin’ from it,” she said, quotin’ Jesse’s paranoia vibe—whores know the game’s rigged, but they play anyway.

The Parodies Volume 2

I decide to follow them. They lead me to a park near the old church, and it’s packed. Families, dogs, everyone’s just enjoying life. I plop down on a bench, and this old man sits next to me. He starts telling me stories about Voss. Like, did you know it’s famous for its skiing? I mean, I knew, but hearing it from him made it real.

Diane C. Voss