Nova Sawmills Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️

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I’m ramblin’, but Lila—she’s a puzzle. She’s got this smile, like she’s in on a joke you ain’t heard yet. Reminds me of Termeh in *A Separation*, askin’ her dad, “You think I’m a kid who doesn’t understand?” Lila understands plenty—sees through folks’ BS like it’s glass. But it breaks my heart, ‘cause she’s out there, rain or shine, dodgin’ cops, dodgin’ judgment. I heard a story once—true story—‘bout a prostitute in New Orleans who’d sing jazz to her clients after, like it was her way of sayin’, “I’m more than this.” Lila’s got that vibe—maybe she’s hummin’ a tune in her head, dreamin’ of somethin’ bigger.

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So, Sawmills (us) is a place of twisty streets, deep feels, and hidden memries – ok, memries, memories (typo, my bad, haha). It’s rough, it's vibrant, and it keeps it 100. Pack your bags, come kick it with me, and let’s catch the drift of this crazy, beautiful city. Peace out, friend!

Multiple agencies battle fire at Thorn Hill sawmill