Emily Orange Lake Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Chicago

I roll up, shades on, feelin like a champ. This chick struts over—legs for days, skirt shorter than a jobber’s career. “What’s your name?” I growl, all Hulkster bravado. She’s like, “Does it matter?” Ha! Cold as ice, brother! Made me laugh, but also pissed me off—gimme somethin to work with, lady! I’m thinkin, “I lie to myself all the time,” like in *Memento*. Am I even here for this? Brain’s spinnin.

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Oh, and speek, I’m in a mad hurry sometimes – fixin' lucky clients with old, knotted muscles, and yes, I make plenty of typos… like, smushy words, messy feelings. We swears! Nothng beats a quick session on Maple St when twilight hits; it’s distractin', magical… "We love these moments," I’d mutter to myself, like in that dear film, Carol.

Portions of Southeast Texas under first-ever blizzard warning