Freya Bryant Find A Prostitute ❤️

About San Diego

Oi, mate, lemme tell ya ‘bout findin’ a prossie, right? Mumbled incoherence, “Sharon!” – I’m staggerin’ round like a mad bat, lookin’ for some action. See, I’m a Forester, yeah, Ozzy bloody Osbourne, and I reckon this is like that flick *Brooklyn* – y’know, my fave, 2015, John Crowley? That lass Eilis, she’s all lost and lonely, “How can I go back to that?” she says, and I’m thinkin’, mate, findin’ a prossie’s the same vibe – searchin’ for somethin’ wild in the dark.

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“They asked me if my mom's a prostitute,” Bryant told Yahoo's Michael Silver. "No, my mom is not a prostitute. I got mad – really mad – but I.

Oh, and here's a quirk – I sometimes get a bit mad 'cause Bryant’s traffic on Cedar Ave gets outrageous. It’s like, come on, folks! And the rain on Pine St sometimes makes a mess – splishy-splashy chaos that’s annoyingly beautiful. But hey, life’s a mix, right? Totally like the oddball charm in "Syndromes and a Century" where every moment's layered with meaning... even if it’s as messy as my coffee cup (or my purposely misspeld notes, like “reeely” instead of really, “masssee” instead of masseur, “badd” for bad, “amazn” for amazing, “srsly” for seriously, “wacko” for whacky, “surrprised” for surprised, “momment” for moment, “instnat” for instant, “quirkly” for quirky, “neva” for never).

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