Anastasia Cynthiana Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About San Jose

Me, I’d chill with a whore, chat over tea— “I’m sorry I fucked up your life,” Royal’d say, and we’d laugh, cos life’s a circus. They’d spill tea—literal and gossip—bout clients, freaks, the lot. Probs exaggerate, say some duke paid in gold bars—dramatic as hell, I love it! Sarcasm? Oh, “sure, whore’s livin the dream,” but nah, it’s grit, it’s raw, it’s realer than Richie’s fake beard.

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I am from cornbread and chicken. Cynthiana, where my momma and daddy grew up, and started their family. Daddy singing Eminem songs to Bug and I.

I talk with a raspy, Bernie-like fire – I mean, look, we gotta stick up for the little guy. The big wigs, the corporates? Screw 'em – they’re outta touch, man. In Cynthiana, the heart beats differently.

Henrietta “Henri” Hasty Meeks, 90