Evelyn Pompano Beach Highlands Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About San Antonio

Precious, precious, listen here! Me, a violin maker, craftin’ sweet strings, yeah? But this “whore” business—nasty, tricksy word! Makes me twitchy, it does. Like Remy in *Ratatouille*, see? “Anyone can cook,” he squeaks, but whore? Anyone can *be* one? Ha! Stupid, fat hobbit! Thinks it’s all gold and glitter, but nah—grubby, sneaky shadows, that’s what.

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I remember one sultry afternoon. I was strollin’ near the Highlands exit on N Federal Hwy. Random shout, “Sharon!” echoed off the walls – not sure if from me or a friend – but the vibe was surreal. People here are raw, intense, like my patients sometimes. They wear their scars in the bright chaos of local festivals and midnight mixers at the beach bars.

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