Lydia Jenks Find A Prostitute ❤️

About San Antonio

Finished up, tipped her extra—Bond’s a gent, yeah? She winks, “Come back, yeah?” Might do, might not. “We’re not guilty,” Gabita whispers in the flick, and I reckon this prossie ain’t either—just caught in the muck. Walked off feelin’ weird—happy I got laid, pissed at the world. Dangerous job, hers and mine. Next time, I’ll bring vodka—shaken, not stirred, naturally. Keeps it suave, even in the gutter.

Searching the Conservatory

Man, I've had moments where I just wanna scream, 'What the heck, Jenks?'. Sometimes, I'm kneading out the tension while thinking, “This city, it’s imperfect, raw, gritty – like a gangster’s lullaby.” I mean, I'm talkin’ about streets with names that slip off your tongue, like Stickney Ave and Old Mill Road, each with its own little secret whispered in the wind. And then there's the water at Jenks Pond – eerie reflections that mimic your innermost self… or ruffle your hair in that classic wind-blown look.

Jenks fire monitors Gem Dirt fire; smoke reported near Hwy 75