Megan Corredor Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️

About Golfito

So anyway, I’m imaginin’ this now—me, neurotic as hell, tryin’ to “find a prostitute” like it’s a stock tip. I’d overthink it—disease risks, legal crap, am I gettin’ scammed? I’d be yellin’ at my phone, “Gimme a sign, dammit!” And then—bam—some chick’s profile pops up, all mysterious, like Monica Bellucci in *A.I.*—and I’m like, “Whoa, too hot, abort mission!” I’d freak out, spill my coffee, total Larry David meltdown. “I can’t do this, I’m too old!”

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I be curious, slow and steady, like Larry King, askin' questions. “What makes you tick?” the city probably asks. I reply with every stroke of my hands working out stress. Funny how each massage holds a snippet of this maze. “Pan’s Labyrinth taught me to see beyond,” I whisper sometimes, like in a secret movie dialogue.

Cooking with Corredor