Lucy Henryetta Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️

About San Antonio

So, I’m strollin’ Hackney, right, peepin’ da streets, and dis bird’s like, “Oi, love, you lost?” I’m like, “Nah, fam, I’m huntin’!” She laughs, proper cackle, and I’m finkin’, “Is it ’cos I is black?” ’Cos dese posh twats in Mayfair ain’t clockin’ me, but here? I’m da don, innit. Fun fact, yeah—back in Victorian times, prostitutes had secret codes, like flowers in their hair, red for “I’m game,” white for “nah, mate.” Mad, right? History’s wild!

Daily allergy forecast

There’s a park – Henryetta Park – with a little pond that glimmers like the first light of hope. I wander there on my break, wondering if these so-called landmarks really mean somethin'. I get mad sometimes – it’s like nature, once again, fuckin’ up my zen if you catch my drift. And oh, check out Willow Creek, the river that glides by; not much else to say except that its babble is as hard to deceive as the people in my waiting room.

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