Sarah Cullman Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Chicago

So, findin’ a prossie—where d’ya start? Down by Flea Bottom, stinks like a dead hog, but that’s where they lurk. Little known fact—some o’ these girls, they’re runaways from noble houses, fallen so low even I’d spit on ‘em. Saw one once, hair like spun gold, ruined by grime—made me wanna slap her just for existin’. “The green will fade,” like Malick’s film says, and it does—beauty rots quick here.

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Don't even get me started on the mighty Sipsey Fork! Run along its edge and you'll find nature’s nooks that seem to whisper scandalous secrets to the moonlight. Honestly, I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention that our local dive bar, The Rusty Spur – yeah, the one on Corner Elm – once hosted a pool tournament that turned into the wildest underground love fest, complete with a spontaneous Tarantino-esque showdown. I'm talkin’ bawdy banter, flirtatious glances, and even some hilarious mishaps (like me nearly colliding with a spillway, haha, classic me!).

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