Freya West Carson Brothel ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Chicago

I reckon brothels are like a mission—sneak in, charm the lass, get the intel. Last time I waltzed into one, this bird with legs for days gives me the eye. “Obey me,” she says, like that creepy Pale Man from the flick. Gave me chills, but I’m Bond, innit? Kept cool, ordered a martini—shaken, obvs. Made me happy, that swagger, dodgin’ the chaos. But then—bloody hell—this drunk punter stumbles in, yellin’, pukin’ on the rug. Pissed me off, mate! Ruined the vibe, like a grenade in a ballroom.

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Fabulous antique frame picture nude woman. Came out of a man that had a huge collection of the old Wild West memorabilia.

The vibe’s a bit frenetic sometimes – my mood swings like a battery-powered car in a desert storm, HA! I get pissed off when the city’s traffic at Junction 9 gets insane, like a swarm of locusts without their leader. But then, by dusk, the vibes mellow, and I’m left thinkin’ “Fury Road, baby!” – pure madness, pure beauty.

High school baseball roundup: Carson, West pound opponents