Lydia Fortuna Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Chicago

I like her, she tough, she real. Not like fake boob lady in club, no no. She tell me bout client, old man, he cry after, say she look like dead wife. Wery spooky! She pat his head, wery gentle, I see this, I shock. Whore not just body, she got soul, yes? “Tell me what to do,” she ask me once, like Nader ask judge. I no know, I just hug her, wery tight.

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Fortuna, a whore balanced upon a barrel, turning her great wheel. In this line, therefore, 'Fortune' is described as being a 'whore' to Macdonwald, but.

And yo, yo, don't sleep on the tiny coffee joint, "Bean Beat." It’s tucked on Junction Ave. – the aroma hit me like a lyrical punch, got my creative juices flowin’. Ain’t many spots like it in these parts; it's a secret gem for real ones.

Fortuna bats powers through chilly Saturday afternoon