Paisley Anhee Whore ❤️❤️

About Mons

I’m ramblin’ now—ooh, *Tabu* vibes again—“Love is a crocodile’s tear.” Ain’t that the truth in a brothel? Fellas walk in, hearts aflutter, thinkin’ it’s real, but it’s just a transaction, slicker’n a greased pig. Ever hear ‘bout the Bunny Ranch? Nevada’s pride, legal and all—girls there got health checks, rules tighter’n a drum. Surprised me, gotta say. Thought it’d be all shady, but nope, they’re runnin’ it like a dang business! Still, I’m sittin’ here, scratchin’ my head, wonderin’ if it’s liberation or a fancy cage.

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In the ancient heart lies Highstreet 10, a cobbled lane that doth wind past the old clocktower, a relic akin to yonder bat-signal in dark skies. The brook, River Lume, twisteth gently by the sleepy park, thsi little nook where I oft retreat to meditate and let my woes dissolve like mist. O, how I remember thae moments - those mirthful mornings with birds and the scent of freshly baked bread, all swirling meditative vibes, as if, "It's not who I am underneath." Seriously, so deep, man.

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