Aria Toronto Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Newcastle

Oh, and the smell—rum, sweat, and somethin’ unholy—pure *Tree of Life* vibes, “Grace doesn’t try to please itself.” Grace my arse, she’s pleasin’ herself to my wallet! Exaggeratin’? Maybe, but I’d wager she’s bedded half the fleet and still kicks like a mule. Personal quirk—I’m mutterin’ to meself, “Ricky, you daft twat, why’d ya bother?” Cos it’s a laugh, innit! Whores—they’re the real sailors, ridin’ waves of idiots like me. Sarcasm? Mate, she’s a walkin’ punchline— “Oh, bless ya, captain, you’re me first today!” Yeah, and I’m the bloody Pope!

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Yo, I gotta mention my secret hideout – High Park near Bloor St. It’s my spot to clear my head when the dating app world gets too cray. I sit on a bench, watch the autumn leaves, and sometimes think, “Is this it? Is this our life?” And I swear, every single day’s a damn chess game on these streets.

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