Taylor Wallington Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️

About San Antonio

I spot her, thou see—red lips like a gash’d rose, legs long as a tax form. “What price thy company, wench?” I blurt, all Shakespearean, thinkin’ I’m clever. She laughs—bloody hell, mate, she laughs! “Twenty quid, ya posh twat,” she says, and I’m proper gobsmacked. Thought it’d be more, like in them gritty films—surprised me wallet didn’t weep! “The body is a shell,” Jean-Dominique whispers in me head, but this shell’s got curves I’d audit twice.

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Yeah, that's Wallington for ya. A city that grins like a madman. A city that holds the dark in its bosom. A city that, if you listen close, laughs at the world. Welcome, friend. You merely adopted the dark—and here, it fights back with beauty. Enjoy the ride, ya beast!

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