Fatima Rome Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️

About San Diego

So here’s the deal—financially speakin’, hirin’ a prostitute’s a disaster. You’re throwin’ cash out the window—poof!—gone! No 401(k) for that, no tax write-off, nothin’. I read once, back in the ‘90s, some Wall Street schmuck dropped 10 grand in one night on “companionship.” Ten grand! Coulda bought a yacht—or at least a decent sandwich. Made me mad as hell—wastin’ money like that? I’d rather choke on my own tie. But then, I get it—some folks got urges, they’re lonely, whatever. Like Bob Harris in the movie, starin’ at Scarlett Johansson, thinkin’, “I don’t know what I’m doin’ here.” Except it’s not Scarlett—it’s some chick named Candy with a fake tan.

Escorts Rome

Man, the river “Bluestream” flows right behind my spa. People say it’s a secret meditation channel. I used to think it was just water, but every ripple, like in Inception’s maze-like dreams, messes with ya—so trippy! Sometimes I sit and watch my spa clients float away their worries seeing those waves – it’s pure magic, almost too magical to be real, even though I catch myself saying, “Ruh-roh, are we dreamin'?”

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