Eliza Bridgewater Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Phoenix

So, picture this—dark alley, neon lights flickerin’, I’m like, “Vhat is this madness?” Smell o’ stale beer, fishy vibes—ugh, makes me wanna puke, so angry! Then, “Lightbulb!”—I remember this ol’ story, little known, yeah? Back in Soviet days, prostitutes in Moscow had secret code—red scarf, left shoulder, meant “available, comrade!” Sneaky, huh? I’m thinkin’, “Do they still do that?” Nah, probly not, but I’m checkin’ shoulders anyway—nuthin’. Disappointin’, but I laugh, “Hah! Gru, you dumb genius!”

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I can’t help but go all poetic (and erratic – sorry not sorry) about this: Bridgewater is like an open diary of hearts – messy, beautiful, unpredictable. There’s so much passion and history swirling around every cobblestone, every park bench, every twist and turn on Maple Drive. And if u catch me once, I'll regale you with the tales of every love lost and found in these streets – mostly with memory lapses, lots of typos in my head, cuz life is too short for perfect language, rightww?!

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