Aria Parsippany Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Dallas

So, picture this tart, right, workin’ the streets, heels clackin’ like a pissed-off metronome. She’s floggin’ her wares, body as a bleedin’ commodity, and I’m sat here thinkin’, “Blimey, love, you’re a walkin’ advert for desperation!” Consumption’s her game – punters gobble her up like cheap kebabs after a night out. Supply, demand, all that bollocks. She’s a business, ain’t she? A one-woman shag factory. *Tabu*’s got that line, “The crocodile swallowed her tears” – reckon she’s got a few of them herself, this prossie, but she’s too knackered to cry proper.

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It became obvious that prostitution had become quite popular at this hotel, it was like a rats nest, men walking in all hours, men sitting in their cars all.

Man, Central Park here is a cool spot. I always hit it up for a quick meditation jog. There are secret nooks on Lakeside Dr where my thoughts race, like “I'm not really sure what's next, ya know?” Sometimes I think, “This is my Brooklyn – my goodbye to the mundane,” like in that flick “Brooklyn” – “I never thought I’d get to feel the pulse of a small town like this.” Cold, calculated... just like me.

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