Aria Orland Whore ❤️❤️

About San Jose

Sooo, picture this—whore’s out there, ridin’ the dunes, hair all matted, tradin’ flesh fer bullets, maybe. Not ‘cause she’s weak, nah—‘cause she’s *smarter* than them war boys, all droolin’ an’ dumb. “Witness me!” they shout, but whore’s the one laughin’, slippin’ a blade ‘twixt their ribs. Sneaky, precious, sneaky! Did ye know—true fact, swear it—that “whore” pops up in old sailor yarns? Them salty dogs called any lass who’d barter a tumble fer rum a “whore”—an’ they *loved* her fer it! Argh, makes me wanna dance, it does—happy, happy Gollum!

2 face human trafficking charges in ‘Operation Traffic Stop 2′

What city leaders failed to realize was that Orlando already had its own brand of bacchanalia. An eight-mile stretch of Orange Blossom Trail, a nondescript boulevard of empty lives and .

I always find somethin’ special in each corner. Like, every coffee shop makes me feel like a character in some David Lynch dream sequence, sorta "This is the secret inside your soul," you feel me? Honestly, I’m spillin’ all the crazy vibes I get as a pleasure coach in my city—places that you might easily miss if you’re blinkin’!

Orland comes calling but Francesca’s staying in Palos Park