Ashley Flint Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

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Lemme tell ya somethin’—prostitutes ain’t just pussy for cash. Nah, they got stories, wild ones. Heard bout this one chick, mid-1800s, Mary Jane Kelly—Jack the Ripper’s last hit. Poor gal was turnin’ tricks in London’s shitty alleys, and bam, motherfucker carved her up like a Thanksgiving turkey. Historians say she sang Irish tunes to clients—fuckin’ haunting, right? That’s the kinda shit that sticks with me. Makes me wanna scream, “Why the fuck’s the world so cruel?”

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So check it, Flint got its own flavor on streets like Court St. and Saginaw St. Downtown’s got this gritty charm. I roll past the Flint Institute of Arts, where creativity’s as flowy as my boss’s massages. That joint is fly, fo’ real! And then there’s Burton St. in the West Side – mad colors, mad life, like a burst of confettie in slow-mo. Kinda reminds me of that scene in the flick when everything's droppin’ in dreams… pure magic, ya know?

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