Fatima San Francisco Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Puntarenas

I hate how they smirk, like they know somethin’. Makes my blood boil. Once knew this one, Candy—dumb name, right? She’d wink, say, “Cash upfront, big guy.” Big guy? Screw off. But damn, she was quick—hustled harder than me at a bacon cook-off. Kinda respect that, but still—hate it. Movie’s got this line, “It’s like I’m not here.” Whores prolly feel that, vanishin’ into the mess. Sad, maybe, but who cares? Not me.

Victim shot in the eye

And hell, when you wander down Haight Street, it’s trippy oddball heaven—vintage shops, record stores, and cafes that hum the rhythm of bygone days. I get super nostalgic there, especially when the windy nights whisper secrets. Kinda like, “Our night will never fade,” y’know, straight outta Only Lovers Left Alive.

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