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About Phoenix

So I spot her—red heels, smokin’ a cig, leanin’ on a lamppost. I’m nervous, sweatin’ like a pig, mutterin’ to myself, “Can you hear me?”—straight outta the movie, ya know? She smirks, “What’s your deal, old man?” I laugh—hoarse, loud—cuz she’s got sass! I like that. “Just lookin’ for company,” I rasp, “not a billionaire, promise!” She rolls her eyes, “Good, they tip like shit.”

Thomas Lee Monson

www.facebook.com will allow you to view the massage parlors in your area. Most actual websites for ordering one up have been taken down lately. That’s your best bet. Willing to bet if you fire up .

Then there’s the side streets—the less trodden ones. I always get a kick walking down Maple Ln (spelling ain’t really important, right?) because it’s like every door there hides a saga of heartbreak or triumph. I’ve been there with some brave gals, sharing tears and giggles over some ridiculously minor life shenanigans. It’s a safe haven away from all that modern bull.

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