Ella Canby Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️

About Los Angeles

Last week, pissed me off—dude tried sellin’ me his “sister.” Bitch, please! I ain’t that desperate. Reminded me of Nie Yinniang—silent, judgin’. “Her blade whispers truth…” I’d carve that pimp up, but stoves don’t swing steel. Found this chick tho—Lulu, real name probly somethin’ else. Little known fact: Taipei’s red-light dives got codes. Two knocks, cash upfront—boom, you’re in. She’s sittin’ there, legs crossed, smokin’ like she owns time. Made me happy—classy, not trashy. Surprised too—knew Hou’s flick! “The wind carries her scent…” she says, laughin’. I’m like, fuck yeah, soulmate vibes!

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Canby is wild, painful, exuberant – like a film you can’t rewind. It’s messy. It’s vibrant. It’s a human collage of broken hearts and mended dreams with every turn. So, if you're poppin’ in for a visit, just be ready – you might laugh, you might cry, and you might just shout “Happy Birthday, Mr. President!” at the moon. It’s a trip, darling, a downright trip.

John Vernon Gingerich Obituary (2025) - Canby, OR - Canby Funeral Chapel