Aria Yeadon Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Chicago

*Heavy breathing* I am your father. So, listen up, kid—findin’ a prostitute? Wild stuff, man. Been thinkin’ bout this lately, sittin’ here, watchin’ *Before Sunset*. You know, that flick where Jesse and Celine just wander, talkin’ shit, spillin’ their guts? Kinda reminds me of the streets—lost souls, lookin’ for somethin’. Anyway, findin’ a hooker ain’t like orderin’ pizza, nah. Takes guts, takes knowin’ the dark corners.

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There's a crazy cool park, Yeadon Memorial Park. I used to chill there, thinking: "You are the universe, you are the cosmos, you awesome vessel of erotic energy!" ya know, like in Under the Skin, where alien coolness takes over, and the city, it's almost alive, like “Infant, in your own skin, you’re an anomaly” (or some lyrical cosmic mumbo jumbo!). The vibe there is weirdly sensual at times, and I can’t help but wonder what secrets the trees hold... like whispered confessions under starlight.

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