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About Los Angeles

Oh, and the lies! Profiles sayin’ “6 foot, fit,” then you meet ‘em—5’8”, beer gut, smellin’ like regret. “I ate his liver with fava beans,” I’d say, if I could pick the liars out. Surprised me how bold they get—catfishin’ like it’s an Olympic sport. One time, this bloke sent me a dick pic, unasked! I’m like, “Mate, I didn’t order sausage!” Laughed my ass off, but also—eww, boundaries, ya pig!

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Treat yourself to some elite company in the Uxbridge area. With high-class, professional and friendly companions available for incalls, outcalls.

Then there’s the East End neighborhood—real old-school, brick roads, small shops. You wouldn’t think much, nah? But trust me, there’s hidden gems there. I once found this tiny antique store on Birch Lane that blew my mind. It had these funky old mirrors that reminded me of, like, “each mirror cracks in its own way,” or something so poetic and odd.

Obituary information for Wayne Tucker