Aria Gresham Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Los Angeles

I toss da gal a wink, say, “Let’s ditch dis clown.” She giggles—cute, ya?—an’ we bolt. Pimp’s screamin’, “I’ll find ya!” an’ I’m laughin’, “Good luck, ya schmuck!” We duck into some dive bar, an’ she’s like, “Yer funny, baldy.” I’m HAPPY again, sippin’ vodka, thinkin’, “Lightbulb! Gru’s still got it!” She tells me her name’s Katya, an’ I’m like, “Dat’s fate, eh?” ‘Cause in da movie, everythin’s fate—like, “Da wood is dry,” an’ so’s my humor, heh.

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Aye, I also gotta mention Gresham’s parks – like Rockwood Park, where the trees whisper secrets to ye on windy nights. Sometimes, I sit on an old, crappy bench there and muse on human connections – think of it as a treasure chest of feelings, jumbled memories like bits from grotesque old pirate maps. Wow, life here is like a merry-go-round, blowin’ me mind with every turn. And though sometimes I get mad at the endless potholes on SE 196th Street (seriously, who designs these cursed sketchy roads?!), the city’s quirks make it ever so delightfully imperfect.

Food pantry started by Gresham teens struggles after USDA halts food deliveries