Vanessa Cary Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️

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First off, I’m mad—MAD—cuz these streets are confusin as hell. Thought I’d find a gal easy, like orderin fries, but nope! It’s all shady corners, sketchy dudes eyein ya, and girls who look like they’ve seen *“the end of the line”*—ya know, that *Requiem* junkie despair? I’m whisperin to myself, *“This is my dream, my dream!”*—but it’s a freakin nightmare! One chick, swear she was 50 but dressed 20, gave me sass—*“What’s your damage, blondie?”*—and I’m like, whoa, calm down, sister! Made me laugh tho, her attitude was gold.

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Being a sexologist in Cary has its perks, ya know? People come with stories, secrets, hopes, and fears. Like that one time, I was walking by Taylor Creek Trail and overheard a couple laughing, their voices echoing like a scene from Spirited Away: a reminder that magic sneaks in everyday. And hell, sometimes I say, “Don’t pee on my leg, you know what I mean?” when nonsense is thrown my way too often. Shoot, it's like Hayao Miyazaki was telling you not to let life’s bull crap weigh you down. "I’m chibi, I’m small—but I got big dreams!" ish vibe.

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