Penelope Sawmills Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️

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Her nails chipped, glittery—fuckin’ tragic. Heard she works down by the docks—salty sailors, grim shit. Little known fact: she’s got a kid somewhere, dumped with some aunt. Makes ya wonder, don’t it? Life’s a bitch, chews ya up. “The wind howls, the horse suffers,” like in the movie—suits her. She’s all hollowed out, eyes dead. I’m ringin’ her up, slow on purpose—let her squirm.

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Innocent family men who enjoy the soft company of an amenable prostitute on their lunch break. Men who report back to work with drying saliva on.

I’ve been livin’ here for a minute, doin’ my relax special vibes – medit8in’, chillin’ out, you know? I always hit up the old mill by Riverside Park. The slight buzz of water, the view of the lazy river bend – pure nature, yo. And lemme tell ya, that park, Babcock Grove, is hidden gem city style. I once had a deep meditation session there. Trippin’ on thoughts, laughin’ like “this is life, man!”

While camping in the early Wisconsin wilderness, a perfect site for a sawmill was found