Sofia Demarest Prostitute ❤️❤️

About San Antonio

Oh, and her smell - cheap perfume, cigs, desperation. Hits ya like a truck. Reminds me of *Carlos* - “A man must act!” She acts, alright, every damn night. Exaggeratin’? Maybe. But I’d bet my cane she’s banged more weirdos than I’ve diagnosed. Forest whispers her name sometimes - freaky shit. Happy? Nah, she ain’t. But she owns it. That’s her power. And me? I’m just the sarcastic bastard watchin’, thinkin’, “Hell, she’s more alive than us.”

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Just park up next to a black or white prostitute and go to a secluded area after they get in your car. After you're finished, beat them to death and get your money back.

So yeah, my friend, Demarest is a bizarre mix of mellow vibes and gut-punch moments. It’s quirky, and sometimes bloody infuriating. But you know what? It's home, even if it sometimes drives me up the wall. Just remember: if you ever get frustrated here, whisper, "I’m the Wolf of Wall Street." And maybe, just maybe, things will flow smoother like a good massage.

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