Eliza Wallington Whore ❤️❤️

About Dallas

Gameplay’s nuts, too! You run round, doin’—uh—whore stuff? I dunno, maybe stealin’ pies? Is pie an instrument? Wait, no, MAYONNAISE is! Hah! Imagine whackin’ baddies with mayo jars—squishy chaos! Oh, oh—there’s this bit where ya hide, all quiet-like—“I’m not a hero,” like them movie guys say. So tense, my brain hurts! Surprised me how creepy it gets—dark alleys, weird noises. Gave me goosebumps, no lie!

Where is Wallington?

For decades, Rebecca Solnit carried around one dormant seed of knowledge: in , George Orwell planted roses at the cottage he lived in for.

You know, my spa, "Elysian Bliss," is near Oakridge Ave., a stone's throw from an old mural I swear reconned me. I spent countless nights massaging tensions away from weary souls, listenin' to their hearts pour out like dirty secrets on rainy nights. Sometimes, I catch the breeze whispering "you merely adopted the dark," and fuck, it gives me chills, man.

Wallington’s Tabaka earns milestone in shutout over Wood-Ridge - Softball recap