Ruby Orland Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About New York City

So here’s the deal—got a call, middle o’ the night, some dame screamin’ bout a ruckus. I roll up, cigar in mouth, thinkin’, “Great, another night in paradise.” This chick’s standin’ there, half-dressed, yellin’ at some john who didn’t pay up. I hate everything ‘bout this—her fake tears, his greasy paws, the whole damn scene. “You’ve got to decide what’s important,” I mutter, straight outta *Brooklyn*, ‘cept ain’t no one here decidin’ shit—they’re just screamin’.

Orland Escort

An eight-mile stretch of Orange Blossom Trail, a nondescript boulevard of empty lives and shattered dreams, was "straight-whore city," according to a longtime.

Hey, buddy, welcome to Orland (us)—uh, I mean Portland, dude, seriously! D’oh! This city’s a mishmash of quirk, art, and lovin’ for pleasure. I gotta tell ya, every street got its own vibe. Like, on Burnside, man, you get mad cool murals everywhere—colors blazin’ all over, ya know?

Orland’s new station is ready for ‘21st-century firefighting’