Lydia Halfway Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️

About Philadelphia

“Don’t pee on my leg and tell me it’s rainin’!” I yell in my head, ‘cause half these gals try scammin’ ya. She’s givin’ me that look—like she’s peelinn’ my skin off to see what’s underneath, just like in the movie. I roll up, tractor still rumblin’, and she’s like, “What’s a farm boy want?” I’m thinkin’, lady, I just hauled 10 tons o’ manure, I deserve somethin’! Made me laugh, her sass—sharp as Judge Judy’s gavel.

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No man should ever treat someone like that. You're not even being treated like a prostitute. He's using you in a big way and you're letting it happen.

Oh, and a personal quirk: I leave angry notes on mailboxes. Yup, scribbles like “Damn you, Halfway!” but truth be told, there’s beauty in its madness. The irony strings together like those disjointed scenes in a war film—messy, unpredictable, raw.

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