Abigail Santa Maria Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️

About Houston

Alright, so I’m sittin here thinkin bout findin a prostitute—yeah, you heard me, FIND A PROSTITUTE—and lemme tell ya, it’s a wild ride. Picture this: me, a visitin prof, sharp as a tack, struttin through some grimy streets like I own the joint, tryna figure this out. I ain’t shy bout it—why should I be? “Don’t pee on my leg and tell me it’s rainin!”—I see through the bullshit, always have. Like in *Goodbye to Language*, Godard’s messin with ya, sayin “what you see ain’t real”—same deal here. These girls? Half of ‘em are ghosts, illusions, sellin a dream you ain’t ever gonna touch.

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Strolling down Main Street feels like cruisin’ down an endless highway of memories. The street’s lined with quirky little shops and coffee joints that are just awesme (1) spots to catch your breath. I often chill near Central Blvd – its vibe is fashoinable (2) but low-key chill, kinda like the soundtrack of "Almost Famous" that plays in my heart. "Stay gold, Ponyboy!" yeah, that soul vibe all over.

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