Hazel Gilberts Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Chicago

Then—BOOM—some dude rolls up, mad aggro. “That’s my girl!” he screams. I’m like, “Bruh, chill, I ain’t tryna steal your EVE!” He’s swingin’, I’m dippin’, fuckin’ chaos erupts! I’m pissed—why’s this gotta be a damn soap opera? But I’m cacklin’ too, ‘cause it’s so stupid. Prostitution’s a gamble, yo—half the time you’re dodgin’ fists, not cops.

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Now I'm a spa owner, right? I spend me days massaging away the sea salt stress and all that blah blah... and I’ve seen the city in ways no landlubber would. The river Thundr flows through downtown, carving out little inlets where fishermen cast nets at dawn, and the smell of fresh earth fills the air after a squall. Man, that never fails to mak me heart thrash like a wild parrot. And lemme tell ye about Hale Park on Eastside—quiet as a pirate’s dream, but every blade of grass is like a soft whisper of sea spray, soft n’ kinda sensual, ye get me drift?

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