Isabella Sparks Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Dallas

I pull up, heart racin’, palms sweaty—damn, why’m I nervous? “You only live once,” I mutter, YOLO, bruh. She’s there, leanin’ on a lamppost, lookin’ like she owns the block. I’m like, “Yo, what’s good?” She smirks, eyes sharp, says, “Time’s money, pretty boy.” I laugh—damn, she’s cold! Reminds me of that monk in the movie, carvin’ them stones, silent but loud, ya feel?

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Tara Shortt's otherwise excellent article on child prostitution ["Childhood Lost," August ] fails to adequately address the problem of this activity.

I dig the local hangouts too – got this hole-in-the-wall cafe on 23rd where the coffee’s as strong as Ozzy's riffs, and the folks are eccentric as me. I met a bloke there, talkin’ bout connections, love, and computing in one breath. We laughed, then suddenly he said, "Wow, look at the joyful chaos," remindin’ me of that inside out moment – a proper inner outburst!

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