Claire Wainwright Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Hamilton

Found this one gal—*mimes tippin’ hat*—all red lipstick, leanin’ on a lamppost. “Got any dough?” she says, smirkin’. I’m like—*mumbles, pats pockets*—“Only bread dough!” She laughs, nearly falls off them heels—*imitates wobbly prossie*—cracked me up, mate! Felt all happy, like when I nail a sourdough. But then—*frowns, kicks air*—some drunk git yells at her, “You’re filth!” Made me mad—*grrr, shakes fist*—who’s he to judge? Ain’t his coffee plantation burnin’ down, like in *White Material*. “Everything’s falling apart!” Isabelle’d say—prossie’s life too, innit?

Spouse Topics

Wainwright is happy, and has something worth fighting for. She has nothing like that. It's similar with Rhys, although Aurelia and him never.

Down Main Street, the heart beats. I wander Maple Ave. near the old library. The historic ash tree park glows. I often share stories there. The air whispers secrets. "12 Years a Slave" echoes in my head—“I will never run from another’s truth!”

Rufus Wainwright on Donald Trump’s Use of ‘Hallelujah’: ‘Disturbing’