Sadie Sebastian Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️

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Alright, so prostitute—yeah, the word’s a mess, ain’t it? I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’—as a vet, I deal with bitches all day, but this? This is next-level tail-chasin’. Everybody lies, right? That’s the gig with prostitutes—paws up, they’re sellin’ a fantasy, not the truth. Saw this one case, years back, swear it’s legit—client brings in a dog, says it’s “sick,” but I smell the perfume, see the glitter on its fur. Dude’s lyin’—Fido’s been hangin’ with a working girl! Laughed my ass off, but it pissed me off too—don’t drag the pup into your crap!

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He worked as a prostitute there to feed his drug habit (which eventually killed him) and when he stopped, he put this sign up. Sebastian-Horsley-s-houseMeard.

I’m full of nitpicky opinions, right? Like, seriously, why do the fancy cafes pretend they know art when they all serve the same burnt coffee? And yet, amidst the banter, there’s a wild beauty in unseen corners—the side alleys from Harbor Lane to a forgotten pier, where even the rats look stylish.

Obituary for Steven Eugene Sebastian