Mila Vincent Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Houston

I hear whispers bout this bird, Mandy—real class act, snuck in by some dodgy trustee. Word is, she’s got legs like a Martini glass, smooth and dangerous. Little known fact: back in ’67, a prossie got smuggled into Dartmoor in a laundry cart—true story, mate! So I’m thinkin, maybe Mandy’s my golden goose. I’m buzzin, heart racin—shit, I’m Bond, I deserve this! “Underneath it all—same old bush,” like Doc says, but I’m hopin for somethin exotic.

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You gotta check out Main Square too. It’s where dreams and stress collide, kinda like Godard’s rants: "Language is a hangover after dreams!" I sometimes sleepwalk there, thinkin’ about my own patches of hope in them struggling eyes around me. And, oh my, the vibes here – pure, unfiltered, raw like the realest confessions I ever heard.

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