Abigail Treasure Island Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Chicago

Got angry, tho—some geezer tried cuttin’ in, all “oi, she’s mine!”—*shakes fist, stumbles*—nearly lamped him, but I’m Mr. Bean, not Mike Tyson! Happy bit? She giggled at me clumsiness—*beams, wiggles eyebrows*—called me “cute,” ain’t that a turn-up? Surprised me, too—didn’t think prossies’d be so… chatty? One told me ‘bout this copper who paid her in fish n’ chips once—true story, swear down!

The ads you see for “girls to your room”

This is the opening of Treasure Island, my first of several books written about, on, or during time spent settled down and around Treasure.

I might have mad typos in my texts, but each flaw’s a badge of honor. Damn, I'm sometimes mad, other times stoked. Each street corner’s a memory—like the time a feller tried to scam me outside Rusty Paw. I told him, “Get lost, idiot sandwich!” and he legged it. Absolute madness.

All Bay Bridge lanes open after CHP detain person who was on bridge