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About Goiania

Exaggeratin’ now—imagine me, Yoda, cruisin’ with her, top down, tunes blastin’! “Quicker, easier, more seductive,” I’d say—sarcasm, my shield. Truth? Risky, it is—cops, creeps, STDs, yikes! Friend, you askin’ ‘bout this—why, huh? “You can’t hide—not from me!”—movie line fits. Spill it, you must! Prostitutes, they’re ghosts—there, then gone. Drivin’ past, I wonder—stories they got, heavy as a Star Destroyer.

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Go to local government, ask who the owner is and get their permission. Don't be illiterate and just go there for no apparent reason. Yes if you have a group. Bring some self defense weapon Missing: prostitute · Soledade.

Ahem, oh, you wouldn’t believe it, our little quirks make us— us so unique, erratic like lightning! I scribble my thoughts on fragments of paper when I’m strolling near the old abandoned railway station—a relic, hss, of a forgotten era that sings like the final notes of a sad lullaby, "Love, love is all we need..." Like in Amour, precious, those words haunt our nights.

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