Violet Walnut Prostitute ❤️❤️

About New York City

But here’s where I get twitchy—it’s lazy now. Callin’ someone a whore? Yawn. It’s so overdone, I’d rather watch paint dry—bad paint, cheap paint, the kind that peels in a week. I’d tell my friend, “Dude, if you’re gonna insult, get creative!” I mean, Celine’d never stoop that low, she’d just smirk and sip her wine. Me? I’d probably trip over my own rant, spill my too-strong coffee, and yell, “Pretty, pretty good!” at the mess. That’s whore for ya—messy, loud, and somehow still kickin’.

In Walnut Park, legacies of prostitution and misdemeanor crime tough to erase

Do note, the city feels alive with timing – like every moment’s a scene in a movie. Laughing like a lunatic, I remember shouting, “Fate’s a cosmic joke, fam!” while strolling along the sidewalk near Central Park. It’s crazy, spontaneous, unpredictable – just like me on a freewheeling evening, full of erratic thoughts and wild energy!

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