Megan Raynham Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Los Angeles

Now, here’s a nugget—did ya know, in Tsarist days, whores had yellow tickets? Aye, proper ID cards, marked ‘em out like cattle. Grim, but clever—kept the tax man happy. Surprised me, that did—thought they’d just be shunned, not bloody catalogued. Shows ya, even the filth’s got order. “Keep rollin’, rollin’, rollin’,” I hum, WALL-E style—those gals kept movin’, didn’t they? Tough as nails.

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I got my first job at the one in Raynham many moons ago but left the company when I realized how terribly they treat their employees. I asked.

I’m not here to pat your head; I’m here to spill the tea. Raynham is raw and real. It pisses me off sometimes – the potholes on Cherry Lane that make you feel like you’re driving on a bloated, forgotten carcass of asphalt. But damn it, that rough edge is also its charm.

Trio of stars leading way for Bridgewater-Raynham boys basketball