Abigail L'isle Adam Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Lille

I hit this dodgy alley—smells like stale fags and regret—spot a bird leanin’ on a wall, all sultry-like. “Groovy, baby!” I say, flashin’ me pearly whites. She’s givin’ me the eye, and I’m thinkin’, “This is it, the kill shot!”—straight outta Zero Dark Thirty, y’know? But then—bam!—some geezer stumbles out, drunk as a skunk, yellin’, “Oi, she’s mine!” Made me mad as a wet hen—nearly lost me cool, mate! I’m like, “Cool it, daddy-o, plenty of fish in the sea!”

Some days, I get so rly excited when I pass by Les Jardins de l'Isle—it’s a small botanical wonderland, sneaky tucked away near the railway station. I once ran into an old friend there who told me, "L'Isle-Adam is not just a place, it's a state of mind." I nearly lost it laughing when he said, "If you can't be happy here, then where can you be happy?!" Classic, right?

Jorge Luis Borges’ Favorite Short Stories (Read 7 Free Online)