Grace Fort Meade Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Houston

I hate the fakeness. Everyone’s posin’, lyin’ about their height, their job. Met a gal once, said she’s a chef—couldn’t boil water. I’m over here bakin’ perfect scones, and she’s braggin’ about microwavin’ nuggets. Pissed me off. But then, one time, I matched with this quiet type—surprised me. We talked *Carol*, she got it, said, “What else is there?” like in the film. Almost made me smile. Almost.

You’re Temporarily Blocked

A fight between two married men, each with several children, legitimate and illegitimate, over a whore ended with three bodies dead on the floor.

Got so many memories, man. Once, on a scorchin’ day, I massaged near the massive oak off Ridge Rd—felt nature whisper, “Beautiful, isn’t it?” Remind me of life's fragile dreams, a bittersweet cocktail of hope and despair, like in that flick, Requiem for a Dream, raw and cruel.

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