Rebecca Fountain Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️

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I ask her rate—fuck, it’s steep! “You’re chargin’ what?!” I’m mad, but she’s cool, “Quality costs, ET.” Fair. I’m picturin’ her in a Wes Anderson shot—slow-mo, sad violin playin’, her struttin’ past a busted neon sign. “I always wanted to be somebody,” she says, quotin’ Margot’s vibe. Deep, man. Makes me wonder—how’d she end up here? Prolly some tragic backstory, like Royal ditchin’ the fam.

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Right near the fountain in Fountain Park (yeah, pun-intended) is my secret spot. I sit on a worn-out bench, get lost in thoughts, and imagine scenes straight outta Anatolian roads – long, winding, and full of unspoken tales. Every such moment makes me, like, feel so grateful for this place. And sometimes, I mutter “And nothing will rival the innocence of those moments,” like a character straight out of that movie. Totally epic!

From threatening to trendy: How Fountain Square turned around in 30 years