Ella Copley Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

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Hey, so I’m Dexter, yeah? Monotone narration, “Tonight’s the night.” Translating Russian Sign Language’s my gig. Today, we’re talkin’ bout “whore”—that juicy word. In RSL, it’s a sharp flick—handshape’s brutal. Means the same shit, tho—someone sellin’ ass. Gets me thinkin’ bout “The Royal Tenenbaums.” My fave flick, hands down—Wes Anderson’s a genius. That line, “I’m very sorry for your loss,” hits diff when you tie it to “whore.” Like, imagine Margot Tenenbaum—aloof, smokin’, fuckin’ mysterious. She’s no whore, but she’s got that vibe, y’know? Screwin’ around, quiet-like, breakin’ hearts.

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Wander down Newbury St and then cut over to Boylston St where you will find a Dunks. Colonoscopy without an Escort? upvotes.

I once found a secret bench near St. Botolph St. It was like hidden treasure. I sat there, thinking, "Man, this is life," while working out my knots. Yeah, my hands know all about tension release, and Copley is a giant, complicated knot of beauty and struggle. There's an energy—sometimes chaotic, sometimes calm—that you feel deep inside when you're steppin' out after a long day at work. It's all about the journey, my friend!

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