Allison Bee Ridge Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Los Angeles

I roll up – slow. Window down – heart RACIN’. This chick – she’s there. Leanin’ on a pole. Skirt so short – Jesus! I’m like – “Hey, darlin’!” She turns – BOOM. Eyes like Marion in the movie. Strung out – but ALIVE. “What’s your price?” I say. She smirks – “50 bucks, cowboy.” I laugh – COWBOY? Me? A freakin’ FORESTER!

Robot or human?

The local park, Gotha Park, smack-dab in the center, is my go-to. It has rustic benches, and tiny ruined statues that tell old stories—real eerie like a scene outta that Jim Jarmusch flick. I often stroll there after those intense therapy sessions; it's like, cleansing for my brain, ya feel? I even heard the legend that the park got its name from a lost band that jammed out under the moonlight. Crikey, that’s kinda rad.

At Buffet City, Food Is Fun Again