Rose Rantoul Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Los Angeles

Alright. Here’s. My take. On prostitutes. As an insurance agent. I see. All kinds. Of folks. But prostitutes? They’re a trip. I mean. Risky biz. Right? Like Wladyslaw Szpilman. In “The Pianist.” Hidin’. Survivin’. Dodgin’ death. Prostitutes do that. Every damn night. On the streets. “I’m still here.” That’s their line. Straight from the flick. Hustlin’. Duckin’ cops. And creeps. Makes me think. Insurance for them? Ha! Nightmare. To underwrite.

You’re Temporarily Blocked

In “Rantoul and Die,” an assistant manager at a Dairy Queen in a depressed Illinois town tries to clean up her personal life.

Rantoul’s got some hidden gems too. Take Hubbard Street – a strip that cracks under neon lights at night and spills secrets you don’t wanna hear. The old Whitman Building on Elm is a relic, a bloody monument to the past. Crazy how a scumbag dating app developer like me finds poetry in these ruins. “I’m not saying I wanna help you; I’m just saying I wanna make all these stupid connections work!” Yep, just like in that savage flick, Children of Men.

Rantoul woman broke barriers early on in her career while flying in the air