Ada Brookside Find A Prostitute ❤️

About San Antonio

So, findin’ a prossie—where d’ya start? Down by Flea Bottom, stinks like a dead hog, but that’s where they lurk. Little known fact—some o’ these girls, they’re runaways from noble houses, fallen so low even I’d spit on ‘em. Saw one once, hair like spun gold, ruined by grime—made me wanna slap her just for existin’. “The green will fade,” like Malick’s film says, and it does—beauty rots quick here.

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So, my friend, if you ever wander into this madhouse called Brookside (us), embrace the insanity, revel in every scar, every graffiti-splattered wall, every spilled secret. Take it all in. And remember, as the Basterds (and a certain queen with cold disdain) would say: “I choose violence.” Sometimes in Brookside (us), that’s the only honest truth.

Brookside School 54: Self-Publishing is Making a Difference