Ivy Hamilton Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Brisbane

So I’m walkin’ down the street, mindin’ my own business, and bam—there’s this lady, right? Total pro, workin’ the corner like it’s her office job. And I’m thinkin’, “What’s her deal?” Like, how’d she end up here? Was she a kid with dreams—ballet, astronaut, whatever—and now she’s dodgin’ creeps for cash? It’s nuts! Makes me angry, too—society’s screwin’ people, and then we judge ‘em for it. Typical! I wanna yell, “Hey, world, fix this!” But nah, I just shuffle past, mutterin’ to myself like a lunatic.

Private Site

How does a bastard, orphan, son of a whore and a Scotsman, dropped in the middle of a forgotten spot in the Caribbean, by providence, impoverished, in squalor.

Oh gosh, sorry, I’m rambling. My spa got a break room that faces the rolling hills past Royce Avenue. Ever seen a sunset at dusk? Brilliant colors mixing as if the sky was coughin’ up secrets. Honestly, sometimes I think, “This is what it’s all about.”

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