Stella Saint Rose Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Los Angeles

So, I’m thinkin’, why not? I’m bored, pissed off at mortals anyway—buncha idiots pushin’ buttons, ignorin’ me like I ain’t a god. Findin’ a prossie sounds like a laugh, a little chaos to stir the pot. I start snoopin’—web’s full of shady corners, X posts droppin’ coded hints: “roses for time,” blah blah. Little known fact? Back in Victorian days, they called ‘em “soiled doves”—poetic, right? Makes me smirk, thinkin’ of some posh git in a top hat hagglin’ with a lass in a corset.

St. Thaïs, the Prostitute Who Became a Nun

Every nook has a quirrrky secret. I dig those abandoned alleyway murals near Central Road—they whisper stories, like, "I am, I am…" you know? And sometimes I panic, like “I wanna be where the skin meets the soul”—classic Under the Skin vibe, right? Haha!

St. Rose students compete at PSIA state academic meet