Aaliyah Sambiase Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️

About Rome

She’s a survivor, this one—gotta be, in her game. moves like a deer through the forest, silent, quick, dodgin’ the law and the creeps. Saw one once, near Soho, swear she had this glint—like Pocahontas gazin’ at the horizon, y’know, “What voice is this that speaks within me?”—but nah, she’s countin’ cash in her head, not dreamin’ of new worlds. Made me chuckle, that did—tough as nails but soft in the quiet bits. Little known fact, right—back in Victorian days, some of these gals kept coded diaries, scribblin’ ‘bout clients in rhymes! Imagine that, poetry from the gutter—beats Shakespeare some nights.

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After lunch, I decide to walk it off. I wander down to the river, and it’s so peaceful. I sit on the bank, just chillin’. But then, outta nowhere, it starts to rain. I’m like, “Seriously?!” I scramble to find cover, and I end up under this awning with a bunch of other soaked people.

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