Emily Southwest Ranches Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About New York City

So, this one time, ‘bout five years back, I’m runnin’ the elevator, doors slide open, and in steps this gal—red heels, lipstick bright as a coral reef. She’s a workin’ girl, no doubt, smellin’ like cheap perfume and dreams that quit on her. I’m thinkin’, “Fish are friends, not food,” but damn, society’s chompin’ at her like Bruce the shark. She looks at me, eyes tired, says, “Top floor, pops.” I nod, hit the button—whirrr, up we go. I’m mad as hell, tho—why’s she gotta hustle like this? World’s cruel, man, chews up the weak and spits ‘em out.

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Lynn Bailey commands with this worthy addition to southwestern history. Highly recommended for any serious student on Arizona, Earp, or southwest studies.

My life in Southwest-Ranches (us) is a mad mix of calm and chaos. Every street feels like a scene from an indie flick. I sometimes blur my thoughts, like “wha, did that just happen??” It's all real and raw.

Florida Catholics set to attend National Eucharistic Congress in July