Megan Isle Of Normandy Whore ❤️❤️

About San Diego

Whores, man, they’re everywhere—sellin’ it, flauntin’ it, livin’ it. Reminds me of *Werckmeister Harmonies*, that gloomy-ass flick I love. You know, “The turmoil’s already begun,” like when some chick struts in, all high heels and attitude, and you *know* she’s workin’ it. Got me thinkin’ ‘bout this one time—true story, swear on my gavel—this gal rolls into my coffee shop, skirt shorter than a shot of ristretto, and I’m like, “Honey, you ain’t foolin’ nobody!” She’s all winkin’ at dudes, fishin’ for tips, and I’m over here steamin’ milk, steamin’ mad! Don’t pee on my leg, sweetheart, I see right through ya!

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After two years of hour-a-day dredging, South Island, as it had been dubbed, was renamed Normandy Isle. And in honor of Levy’s heritage, streets got a dash of savoir faire, with names Missing: whore.

Then, oh my gosh, there's Normandy Park – a real gem. It's my secret spot for thinkin’, refreshin’, and sometimes even catchin’ a late-night gig. I love layin' on the grass, starin' at the sky, sayin’-- “This is an act of God!” I mean, come on, every blade of grass tells a story. Srsly, no exaggeration.

Island marks 80th anniversary of D-Day Normandy landings