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Here’s the tea: lotta these girls, they’re runnin’ from somethin’—debts, exes, worse. Red? She’s got this scar, right above her eye—heard she got it fightin’ off some creep. Makes me happy she’s tough, but sad too, ya know? World’s messed up. I’m yellin’ in my head, “Drake, don’t get soft now!” So I ask her, “Yo, who’s your pimp?” She laughs—straight up cackles—and says, “Ain’t nobody own me, suit.” Savage. I’m shook, fam.

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So, here's the lowdown: I chill in the city’s lively neighborhoods, like the artsy vibes near Warrior Road – it's quirky, folks hang out outside while discussing everything from hidden sex-positive philosophies to spicy local gossip. BTW, I’m a sexologist, so I’ve seen how intimacy flows even in the dustiest corners. Crazy, right?

This ex-New Yorker’s bagels fill a hole in Twentynine Palms