Zoey Savage Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Los Angeles

But here’s the kicker—she’s got this limp, right? X-ray shows an old break, healed crooked. Someone kicked her, I reckon. Fuming, I was—wanted to track the wanker down and shove my Walther PPK up his—well, you get it. “Truth is a cruel mistress,” Ida’d say, and damn, she’s right. Prossie’s a trooper, though—hops around, still flirts with me for treats. Surprised me, that grit. Exaggeratin’ a bit, maybe, but she’s my bloody hero.

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So picture this: Broad, leafy streets like Old Savage Road wind past places like the old grinding mill—Savage Mill, if ya know what I mean—a relic from the past, tickin' with history. Honestly, it's like every cobblestone has a whisper of a story, ya feel me? I mean, when I'm workin' away at our spa, I hear the rustle of nature through the leaves and think, "Blue is the warmest color." And that film, oh hell naw, it penetrates deep, like the hues of twilight over the Patuxent River.

What I Want to Make Live: An Interview with Ron Currie on “The Savage, Noble Death of Babs Dionne”