Lydia Mandeville Prostitute ❤️

About Spanish Town

So, I knew this one chick—true story! Worked the corner near Bikini Bottom, swear it! She’d strut, all sassy, heels clackin’—like, "I’m the prize!" But get this—she’d knit lil’ hats for stray cats. CAT HATS, dude! Who knew, right? Made me happy, seein’ that. Soft spot in all that grit. But then—ugh, some jerk stiffed her once, tossed a sandwich instead of cash. SANDWICH! Got me so mad, I wanted to—SMASH somethin’!

Discover something new every day

a desire would be pinned on prostitutes, profiteers easily degraded. I turn therefore to Mandeville's treatise on legalizing prostitution. Mandeville's A Modest.

But then, outta nowhere, this dude walks in. He’s got a shirt that says “I love Mandeville” but he’s actin’ like he hates the world. He starts complainin’ about the prices. I’m like, “Bro, you think I set the prices? I’m just the butcher!” But he keeps goin’. I’m tryin’ to keep my cool, but inside, I’m like, “Dude, chill. It’s Mandeville, not a supermarket in Kingston.”

Letters to the Editor: Mandeville Canyon almost burned. Thanks to those who saved my neighborhood