Mia Westerly Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Los Angeles

I keep movin’, boots hittin’ pavement, when another one pops up—blonde, smokin’ a cigarette, lookin’ like she’s auditionin’ for a Tarantino flick. “You look lonely, sugar,” she says. Lonely? I’m happier than a pig in mud alone, ya harpy. “I’m gonna scalp ya if ya don’t scram,” I mutter, channelin’ Aldo. She blinks, confused. Good. Hate when they don’t get it. Did ya know, in old France, they branded prostitutes with a fleur-de-lis? Marked ‘em like cattle. Brutal, but kinda badass.

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Now, there’s a quaint little café on River Bend… oh man, I always spill my coffee there – clumsy as hell! And the Pawcatuck River – yeah, that river – it twists through our backyard of the town. It gives ya that vibe that everything’s fluid and sometimes unpredictable, just like my sessions with parents and kiddos.

Police Logs: Thursday, March 27, 2025