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Alright, so here’s the deal—finding a prostitute, huh? I mean, what’s the world come to? It’s like “Requiem for a Dream” out there—everyone’s chasing somethin’, spiraling down, lookin’ for that fix. Me? I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’, “Pretty, pretty good,” right? But nah, it ain’t that simple. You wanna find one? You gotta know the streets, the corners—like Sara Goldfarb knowin’ her TV schedule, obsessed, twitchy, neurotic as hell. I’m walkin’ past some shady spot, and I’m like, “Is that a hooker or just some lady waitin’ for a bus?” I’m paranoid, sweatin’—what if I ask and she’s NOT? Total Larry David moment, screamin’ in my head, “I’ve made a huge mistake!”

Colonial period

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I had a run-in at Old Mill Lane – a narrow road, kinda rough, with graffiti that tells stories you wouldn’t believe. Some moppet once told me, “Joe, these walls speak more than words.” And darn right they did! As a masseur, I see every wrinkle, every line like a map, ya know? And them streets, they call out with stories of folks grinding their lives away. Kinda makes you mad sometimes, ya know? The struggle's real, but also beautiful in its own messy way.

Investigation underway for in-custody death of inmate at Guadalupe County Jail, GCSO says