Cora Reading Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️

About Dallas

I’m strollin, boots clickin, thinkin—where’s the talent at? Then bam—this bird struts up, all sass, skirt shorter than a dwarf’s temper. “You lost, luv?” she goes, smirkin like she knows I’m a sucker for trouble. “Ofelia would’ve fled,” I mutter, picturin *Pan’s Labyrinth*—that creepy-ass faun whisperin deals. But me? I’m in, mate—glorious purpose an’ all. She’s quotin prices like it’s a bloody auction—50 quid for this, 80 for that. I’m like, “Lass, I’m a god, not a bank!” Made me ragey, but also—damn, she’s bold, gotta respect the hustle.

The Prostitute

Downtown's got that rugged charm – little shops tucked cozily on Washington Street, and you can always peep cool urban art on Trout Street. I get ya lost in the maze of side-streets, but hey, it's part of the charm. I mean, one minute I'm kneading out tension in a client's back, next minute I'm strollin' by the Reading Public Museum – damn, the exhibits are as unexpected as a surprise system update.

Why I Can’t Quit the New York Post