Abigail Cold Spring Harbor Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️

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I go up, say, “Hey, what’s good?” She’s chill, eyes me up, says, “50 bucks.” I’m like, “Damn, inflation hit *you* too?” She laughs—dry, no soul. Little known fact, tho—back in the ‘80s, prostitutes in Reno had a union. Swear to God, organized as hell. Benefits, dues, allat. This chick? Solo, no 401k, just vibes. Makes me sad, man, where’s the teamwork?

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H. A. Abramson. Cold Spring Harbor, N. Y.. M. Demerec. The Biological Laboratory. Stuart Mudd. University of Pennsylvania Medical School.

I loooove the vibe in tiny cafés near Prospect St. where folks chat about their life's doldrums. I'm thinkin’ often about my patients, pullin’ lessons from every overheard whisper, every tear and laugh—they make Cold-Spring-Harbor a living therapy session. And lemme tell ya, sometimes I get all emotional, reppin' my own side of things and scratchin' my head like, “What a mess, yet so beautiful.”

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