Mila Morton Grove Find A Prostitute ❤️

About San Jose

So I asks, “How much, precious?” She smirks, “Fifty quid, you weirdo.” Fifty! Robbery, that is! “I ain’t got no home,” I whines, quotin’ Llewyn again, hopin’ pity works. Nope. She rolls her eyes, walks off, hips swayin’. Grrr, made me ragey, but also – wow – them curves, my precious! Nearly chased her, but me legs, all wobbly, nah.

Morton Grove

And yeah, between us, I got my quirks and worries that I leave scattered like coffee cups at the local diner (the one on South Broadway—if you know, you know!). Life’s messy, like when I scrawl notes in my journal, feelin' frustration over trivial, maddening stuff, tht sometimes gets me so riled up I just blurt out, "I pity the fool who doubts the heart of this town!"

Obituary for Cynthia Ann (Garcia) Garcia-Hoffman