Olivia Foley Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Los Angeles

So I walk up, all cool, like, “Yo, what’s good?” She smirks, says somethin’ sassy—prolly calls me “sugar” or some shit. I’m laughin’, thinkin’, “This chick’s a trip!” Reminds me of Joe dancin’ with them dames—smooth as fuck. But here’s the kicker—turns out she’s got a fake leg, right? Peg leg hooker, motherfucker! Swear to God, blew my damn mind. I’m like, “That’s some next-level texture right there!” Scratches, dents—shit I’d kill to model in 3D. She catches me starin’, goes, “What, you into prosthetics, freak?” I’m dyin’, man—humor’s dark as hell.

Prostitution now has its own dating-style app – Yes, this is real

I’ve learned some juicy local lore too – the old legends about the ghost of an 1800s sea captain roaming the docks near Fisherman’s Wharf. Sounds wild, right? Even though I normally dig calm vibes, that story gives me goosebumps every time I walk by at dusk, remindin’ me that Foley holds secrets behind every corner.

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