Isabella Prosser Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About San Jose

Findin’ a prostitute ain’t all laughs, tho. Surprised me how pricey it gets—like, 50 bucks for a quick howl? Zoinks! In old Virginia, they’d trade tobacco for a tumble—cheaper, huh? I’m sittin’ there, ponderin’, “What would Pocahontas think?” Prolly somethin’ deep, like, “The wind carries their shame.” Me? I’m just hopin’ she don’t carry fleas! Hah! Nah, she was cool—gave me a wink, said, “Come back, pup.” Made me grin like I nabbed a double-decker sandwich!

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Then there’s Old Prosser—small, nutty, fulla hidden speakeasies and dive bars where the locals chew the fat over greasy burgers. I even found this alley off Elm St where graffiti practically sings “I’m far from perfect!” Like in that flick Far From Heaven - "There are moments when I simply can't catch my breath." But damn, that line smacks me every time. Rarrgh!

Huskies Can't Keep Pace with Prosser