Abigail Drexel Heights Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

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Alright, so I’m a shepherd, right? And I’m thinkin’—find a prostitute, what’s the deal with that? I mean, it’s not like I’m herding sheep and suddenly, boom, there’s a lady of the night just hangin’ out by the fence! “Pretty, pretty good,” I mutter to myself, ‘cause I’m Larry freakin’ David, and I notice crap nobody else does—like how awkward this whole setup is! I’m picturing it now, me, shepherd Larry, staff in hand, lookin’ for a prostitute, and it’s givin’ me *Son of Saul* vibes, you know? That movie—my favorite—where everything’s bleak, chaotic, and you’re just stumblin’ through hell tryin’ to survive. “I don’t want to die here!” I’d yell, like Saul, but instead it’s, “I don’t wanna get fleeced by this chick!”

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I usually see way more open-air prostitution in the Jackson Heights/Corona part of Roosevelt Ave, and some around www.facebook.comg: prostitute · Drexel Heights.

Then there’s our so-called "Superior Suburb." Oh man, what a snoozefest! Expensive houses, manicured lawns, all polite smiles exuding bland perfection. But hey, even here, I get a kick. I throw the odd shameless remark—Tina Fey style—because, mate, you know, “I can see Russia from my house!” Honestly, it's like, these people need a good dose of snark.

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