Brooklyn Wheaton Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

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So I’m scopin’ the scene, yeah? Them prossies back in the day, they had style—miniskirts tighter than a villain’s grip, lips redder than a double-decker bus. Little known fact, dig this: in ‘67, Soho was crawlin’ with these birds—cops called ‘em “night butterflies,” how fab is that? I’m vibin’, thinkin’ “Oh, behave!” when this one chick—let’s call her Babs—sways over, all sultry like. She’s got that look, ya know, “The children are watching,” like in the movie, but flipped—*she’s* watchin’ me, sizin’ me up. Got me all hot under the collar, baby!

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I've been here 8 months and have yet to see a prostitute over there. She was probably trying to get you to hit her with your car hoping to get some $$ from you. What I'm sick of is people .

Ah, Clarice… Wheaton is a curious mix. I mean, it's small but brews some wild surprises. I’ve strolled down Main St—oh, sweet Main St.—and got lost in the maze of little shops and cafes. Wheaton’s got this pulse, this undercurrent you feel in your bones. Gee whiz, I luv it.

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