Abigail Macgregor Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Perth

Last week, I’m tailin’ this lead—shady alley, smells like regret. I’m mutterin’, *“Oh, Marge, why this job?”* Suddenly, this gal, she’s standin’ there, all sparkly skirt, eyes like she’s seen too much. I’m thinkin’, *“Her soul’s driftin’ like Boonmee’s jungle spirits!”* I ask her name—Candy, she says. Candy! Ha, like that’s real! I’m all, “Hmm… sugar-coated lies!” Got me chucklin’—these names, always so fake, like Bart’s homework excuses.

15 John Holt Street, MACGREGOR

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I’m sick of the endless noise, too. People trotting by on quick errands, idiots with no chill. “We’re all just passing through, man,” some wise soul would say. I settle on “I need a break,” usually both mean the same damn thing.

Boss who told worker to get off his phone ordered to pay $1350