Valentina Deming Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Chicago

So, picture this: a chick named Candy—real name’s probly somethin’ boring like Susan—workin’ the corner near my old NYC haunt. She’s got this ratty fur coat, smokin’ a cig like it’s her last. I’m thinkin’, “Girl, you’re naked under there, aren’t ya?”—straight outta Toni’s weird nudist scene! Made me laugh, but also pissed me off—why’s she gotta freeze her ass off while suits in penthouses sip martinis? Ugh, the unfairness kills me! Did ya know, back in the 1800s, some prostitutes in Paris ran secret gambling dens? Badass! Candy probly could too, if she wasn’t dodgin’ cops.

Anything But Saintly

Sometimes I wander down Cedar Rd. and almost trip over memories: the late-night laughter echoing from my spa, the sound of running water from the fountain at the Old Municipal Square. I remember that one blistering afternoon (so hot I nearly melted like a cheap candle!) when the entire street felt like a giant stew of smells and sounds. Oh, so wild, so alive!

Deming Park pool project reflects latest push from the Sakbun administration to improve troubling 'public health' metrics in Terre Haute