Angelina Ridgefield Find A Prostitute ❤️

About New York City

Hmmm, sex-dating, you ask? Tricky, it is. Fear leads to anger, anger to hate… swipin’ left on losers gets old fast. Like, real fast. Been there, done that, got the t-shirt, y’know? Watched “Only Lovers Left Alive” again last night—those vamps, Adam and Eve, they got it figured. Centuries of bangin’, no apps needed. “Tainted love, it spreads,” Eve says, and damn, she’s right. Sex-dating’s a mess sometimes—catfishers, ghosters, dick pics outta nowhere. Pisses me off, man! Had this one dude, profile said “6’2, poet,” turns out 5’8 and a creep. Fear of that shit makes ya ragey.

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So, ya got your main drag – Main Street. Yep, right off the bat, Main Street’s hummin’ with life. There's cute lil’ cafes, a pub or two, and even a massage parlor (yep, the one where I work, haha!) that keeps my hands busy and customers comin’ back. I swear, every time I pass by, I think of that line from "The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford" – “I’m your huckleberry.” Ain’t that somethin’?

The Yale Whiffenpoofs