Emily Big Rapids Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About San Diego

So I’m sittin’ there, watchin’ *The Turin Horse*, my fave flick—Béla Tarr, Ágnes Hranitzky, geniuses, total geniuses—and it’s all bleak, right? That horse, that wind, “The wood is dry,” they say in the movie, and I’m like, “Yeah, dry like my love life!” But whores? They ain’t dry, nah, they’re out there, makin’ it happen, rain or shine. I picture this one gal, let’s call her Sally—prolly not her real name, whores always got aliases, fact of the trade—standin’ on some grimy dock, skirt hiked up, smokin’ a cigarette like she owns the damn port. And I’m like, “Good for you, Sally! Pretty, pretty good hustle!” But also—kinda grosses me out! All those sweaty sailors, me included—ugh, the hygiene, the STENCH. Makes me wanna shower just thinkin’ bout it.

Grand Rapids Street Prostitution: Hiding In Plain Sight

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Yo, gotta say, I been pissed off a few times too. Like when the city messes up our street lights on Summit or bugs on Parkside drive, innit? Damn near ruined me chill, yo. But still, Big-Rapids’s quirks keep me smilin’. It’s all the mad energy, the imperfect beauty, like life itself, proper unpredictable.

Thousands of riders, one weekend: Blessing of the Bikes roars into Baldwin