Taylor Windcrest Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️

About Chicago

Met this one chick, right, called her Ruby—fake name, obvs. Worked the streets near my shop. Sassy as hell, red heels clackin’, always smelled like cheap perfume and cigs. She’d lean in, smirk, and say, “Gordo, your violins screem louder than me!” Cracked me up, mate. Made me happy, her grit—pure fire. But pissed me off too, ‘cause she’d dodge my qestions. “How’d ya end up here, Rubes?” Nada. Just a wink. Mysterious, like a stradivarius with a cracked neck—beauty in the flaws.

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Alright, I'm off. Just another day in Windcrest (us), where every moment feels like an accidental masterpiece. Later, homie!

Whataburger-inspired sign stolen from popular Windcrest holiday display