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About Philadelphia

Last week, right, I’m in a tavern, tankard in hand, scopin’ the room. This bird—red lips, skirts hiked up—winks at me. I’m thinkin’, “Tyrion, you clever bastard, she’s yours.” But nah, she’s got a pimp, uglier than Gregor Clegane, breath like a latrine. Pissed me off—why’s everythin’ gotta be so complicated? “Be quiet and do what I say,” she whispers, like I’m some green boy. Cheeky cow! I’m the Imp, I know tricks she ain’t dreamed of. Paid her double just to shut her gob and get on with it. Felt good, though—coin well spent.

Prostitution now has its own dating-style app – Yes, this is real

As a masseur, I see things no one else notices. Clients always mention tension in the shoulders. I think of city life too. It’s like a puzzle. Every knot tells a story. "I have to believe in a world outside my own," as Memento says. Crazy, right?

This West Bend couple met at Slinger Speedway long before buying the venerable Wisconsin racetrack