Megan Tuart Hill Prostitute ❤️

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Hmm… I’d sip my tea, wonderin—why’s she do it? Money, sure, but there’s guts there too! Takes balls to strut past judgy prudes. Me, I’d be all, “Homer, don’t you dare stare!” Exaggeratin for drama—she’s a queen in fishnets! Prostitutes got this… mystery, ya know? Like Lenny’s tattoos, tellin a story ya can’t quite read. Drives me nuts, but I love it! Hmm… What a world, huh?

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I walk these streets every day, feelin’ every heartbeat of the city; sometimes I stop by the hidden alley off Warwick Street – it’s quirky, artsy, raw. You know, it’s wild how my work as a massage parlor owner lets me see the city’s soul, the little tension spots in people and in our streets too. Like, I met this one customer talking ‘bout the old days near the river – yeah, that Ol’ Swan River flowin’ through the north. He said, “Life ain’t no script, it’s improv!” and damn, that struck me right here in my heart, like a joyful smack.

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