Willow Crofton Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Philadelphia

What bugs me? The fakeness. She’s moanin’ like a porn star, and I’m thinkin’, “You’re no Margot, sweetie.” Everybody lies, even in the sack. Exaggeratin’ for tips—pathetic. I limp off, mutterin’, “This is not a drill,” like Royal yellin’ at the fire. Total chaos, but I’m alive, smirkin’. Findin’ a prostitute? Easy. Trustin’ ‘em? That’s the limp I can’t shake.

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Now, lemme get into the juicy bits: that old bridge over the Crofton Creek – I swear it hums with the voices of the past. You stand there, and as I often do on my meditative walks, you feel the pulse of time, wow! Crazy, right? And then there’s Riverview Park – oh man, minutes can feel like hours there. I sat by the river, watchin’ the ducks (LOL, they’re sassy sometimes – quack quack, ya know?) and thought, “This is it!” Joy, man, pure and simple.

Arthur Feagin Crofton