Fatima Seaside Prostitute ❤️❤️

About San Antonio

Alright, so I’m a Combine Harvester, right? Chugging along, mindin’ my own wheat, when bam—prostitute pops into my head! Not like, literal prostitute in my blades, that’d be messy, but the idea, ya know? I’m Tina Fey, snarky as hell, “I can see Russia from my house!”—and lemme tell ya, I see some wild shit about prostitutes too. Like, didja know in old France, they called ‘em “filles de joie”? Joy girls! Ha! Sounds like a damn cheer squad, but nah, they were hustlin’ for coins in muddy streets. Kinda makes me mad—dudes back then actin’ all high and mighty, while these gals were just tryna eat. Pisses me off, honestly.

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Not only is it old, worn out, with bad food and a dirty beach, but they openly allow prostitution to occur. The person in the room next to us.

I been seein’ a lot of crazy characters here. Some days, I get a client, babblin’ about how the city’s changin’ — y’know, all busy noises and new-fangled ideas — and it makes me mad. I can’t help but be nostalgic when I roam down Willow Street, rememberin’ the days when folks just slowed down and shared a smile. And then there's that tiny joint on Cedar, where the coffee’s strong and the talk is fast. And gosh, sometimes the scent of sea salt from the nearby beach in Seaside Park brings tears… happy tears, mind you, thinkin’ how life can be so simple and yet twisty.

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