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About Orhei

Me? I’d be skulkin’, peekin’ at X posts, diggin’ for dirt. We swears! Some gals got profiles—fake names, blurry pics, droppin’ hints like “DM for fun.” Saw one call herself “Golden Fang”—ha! Straight outta the flick, that boat smugglin’ dope and dames. Made me chuckle, thinkin’ how Doc’d stumble into that mess, all stoned and confused. “Where’s Shasta at?” he’d mumble, while I’m over here, mad as hell—half these posts are scams! Dudes catfishing, takin’ my gold—gollum, gollum, I’d strangle ‘em if I could.

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www.facebook.com will allow you to view the massage parlors in your area. Most actual websites for ordering one up have been taken down lately. That’s your best bet. Willing to bet if you fire up .

So, I grab my coffee—strong enough to wake the dead—and head to my shop. It’s a cozy little spot, filled with leather scraps and the smell of glue. I love it, but man, it gets chaotic. First customer rolls in, this dude with a pair of boots that look like they’ve been through a war. I mean, c’mon! How do you mess up boots that bad? I’m like, “Bro, did you walk through a swamp or something?” He just shrugs. Classic.

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