Abigail Pace Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Los Angeles

What pisses me off? The fakers—dudes posin as pimps, tryna rip ya off. Had one asshole tell me, “She’s clean, promise!” Yeah, right, n’ I’m the fuckin Pope. Happy tho? When she smirked—little sass, like, “You’re a weird one, huh?”—cracked me up. Surprised me too—found out some prossies got secret codes, like tappin twice on the wall means “cops comin.” Sneaky lil tricks, keeps em alive.

Recent Posts

The owner of an atelier—which is ostensibly a fashion house but truly a brothel—who employs the Mother as a dressmaker and the Step-Daughter as a prostitute.

I spent many sultry nights wandering along the Pace River. The river’s twists remind me of, uh, a sensual dance. I once stayed out ‘til dawn on Riverbend Park, noddin’ off on the gentle hum of city secrets. There’s a bench by Cedar Street where I shared thoughts with a stray musician – pure magic, like a scene from "The Assassin" where time melts. Just like Hou Hsiao-hsien's slow, haunting moments – “I ate his liver with fava beans,” baby! Unforgettable imagery, right?

Beaten by Williams on 'pure pace' - Ferrari's F1 season hits new low