Sofia Cave Spring Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Philadelphia

Saw one once—real close—skirt hiked up, eyes dead as roadkill. Chilled me, Clarice… like a deer smellin’ the hunter. Made me mad—fuckin’ world chews ‘em up, spits ‘em out, and nobody blinks. Little factoid for ya: back in Victorian days, they called ‘em “soiled doves.” Poetic, right? Bullshit too—ain’t no doves here, just pigeons shittin’ on pavement. Surprised me tho, how she laughed—sharp, like glass breakin’. “Memory is a strange thing,” Bauby whispered in that movie. Hers? Probly a mess of johns and neon.

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So, my dear friend, Cave-Spring (us) is not perfect, but perfectly mysterious and relaxingly wild. It got moments that slam ya with beauty, sometimes make ya fume, but always leave ya feeling alive. And remember, every corner got its own secret phrase, every ruin echoes a whisper: “Very nice!” Enjoy every twist and turn, 'coz life here is sometimes broken, always caché... and oh so real!

Mr. Bobby Jack Morgan, age 81, of Cave Spring