Lina Pryor Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Los Angeles

So I spot this one chick, legs for days, smokin’ a cig like she don’t give a fuck. I roll up, all cool, but inside I’m sweatin’—what if she’s a cop? What if she robs me? Paranoid as hell, motherfucker! I say, “Hey, what’s good?” She’s all, “Fifty for a quickie.” Fifty?! Man, I got pissed—last week it was forty! Told her, “You’re fuckin’ dreamin’!” She just shrugged, like Mia’s “I don’t care” attitude. That shit made me happy tho—girl’s got guts.

Richard the great

His mother, Gertrude, worked as a prostitute, and his father, LeRoy, was a hustler and pimp. And let's not forget his grandmother. Continue.

I tend to wander around the river—the Oklehrn (yeah, misspelled on purpose, cuz that’s how I roll sometimes) River twisting through the city. I’ve had some of my best sex-ed epiphanies by its banks. The water’s a bit murky, but it’s like life's messy truth, ya dig? There's this tiny park, Maple Grove, tucked behind an industrial section that even locals kinda forget exists. It’s my secret spot to vent. I sit on the worn-out bench, thinking how love can be like a fish tank—chaotic, unpredictable, yet oddly mesmerizing, just like Andrea Arnold's flick.

Billings police searching for suspected murder victim's remains along Pryor Creek