Camila Macgregor Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️

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Sometimes, I’d see ‘em—tired, smokin’ cigs, countin’ crumpled bills. Reminds me—Bob and Charlotte, sittin’ quiet, starin’ at Tokyo lights. “Isn’t it funny how things turn out?”—that’s the vibe. Prostitutes, they’re out there, livin’ raw—makes ya think. Ever wonder what they dream ‘bout? Prob’ly not creeps pawin’ at ‘em. Maybe a beach, a dog—somethin’ soft. Gets me mushy—c’mon, man, who doesn’t root for ‘em a lil’?

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Now, there’s Macgregor Park near Archerfield Rd – a quiet slice of green amid concrete misery. I stroll there on my break when my back screams. Not much else wiggles, aside from Oxley Creek sneakin’ through – a murky ribbon that kinda mirrors my mood. Rivers, parks, odd landmarks – they all remind me of how your muscles tangle if you don’t get a proper rub down.

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