Hazel Solaro Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Milan

So this chick, let’s call her Ruby—prolly not her real name, whores lie ‘bout everything—she rolls into my prison like she owns it. Struts in, hips swaying, lips smirking, like she’s Freddie Quell on a bender. I’m thinkin’, “What’s your angle, sweetheart?” ‘Cause everybody’s got one. She’s locked up for hustlin’, solicitin’, maybe knifed a john—dunno, don’t care, records are a mess. Point is, she’s a pro. Not just at screwin’—at screwin’ *people*. Got this vibe, y’know? Like she could charm the bars off this dump.

Parties publiques

So, I finally grab some gelato—pistachio, my fave—and I’m walkin’ back to the beach. But guess what? I trip over a beach towel. I go down like a sack of potatoes. Gelato everywhere! I’m layin’ there, covered in melted ice cream, and all I can think is, “This is NOT how I wanted my day to go.”

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