Aria Woodmere Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

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Hmmmm, prostitute, you ask about? Dark, twisted life it is. Like *Melancholia*, y’know—doom creeps in slow. “Do or do not, there is no try,” I say, watching her strut. Streets she owns, head high, heels clickin’. Sad it makes me, but damn, respect too! Saw this gal once—Lola, they called her—worked corners near Mos Eisley, ha! Not really, but feels like it—grimy, lost. “The end is near,” she’d mutter, like Justine in the flick. World’s end she meant? Or hers? Dunno.

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In some accounts of the Gospels, she is the prostitute Mary Magdalene. The dandelion, below, is an ancient symbol of flirtation. Martha, the seated figure.

Now, Woodmere ain't yer ordinary town. It be a maze of narrow lanes like Chestnut Ave, where the wind whips tales of yore. Ye can wander along Lowery Street too, smilin' at quirky murals, each one a wink to the city's soul. I still remember, blimey, the time I nearly lost me boots on the slippery bricks of Dune Lane – haha, silly me!

I-Team: Leaders bought pricey meals on taxpayer dime