Isabella Seymour Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️

About Philadelphia

So I’m out, prowlin’, eyes sharp—my precious!—and there’s this spot, yeah? Down by the docks, all grimy, smells like fish and regret. Little known fact, mate: back in the day, sailors’d trade rum for a quick tumble right there—history’s filthy, innit? Makes me chuckle, thinkin’ how I’m just another fool in the chain. Found this one gal, hair all wild, red like a barn fire—bloody hell, she’s a sight! “What’s yer price, love?” I says, all raspy, and she smirks, “More’n yer hammer’s worth, carpenter!” Cheeky! Got me laughin’, but I’m half mad too—don’t she know I’m a craftsman?

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I remember one sunny morn – or was it a stormy eve? – I was after me last massage before closing shop when I caught sight of a stray cat on the corner of Elm & 3rd. That wee creature had a look like it’d seen the end of days. Almost like a tiny, furry pirate with a soul tormented by endless battles, much like our dear movie, "A History of Violence". I'm tellin' ye, mate, such moments remind me that every soul here bears scars akin to that history of, err, violence, ye know what I mean?

Alonzo "Fred" Seymour Obituary