Taylor Winnemucca Prostitute ❤️

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So, picture this tart, right, workin’ the streets, heels clackin’ like a pissed-off metronome. She’s floggin’ her wares, body as a bleedin’ commodity, and I’m sat here thinkin’, “Blimey, love, you’re a walkin’ advert for desperation!” Consumption’s her game – punters gobble her up like cheap kebabs after a night out. Supply, demand, all that bollocks. She’s a business, ain’t she? A one-woman shag factory. *Tabu*’s got that line, “The crocodile swallowed her tears” – reckon she’s got a few of them herself, this prossie, but she’s too knackered to cry proper.

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Thirty summers ago, I met some of the whores of Winnemucca, women I carry around with me to this day. Their faces crystallize, freeze frame-style, in my memory.

So my dear friend, if u visit, take a stroll on Railroad Ave, catch the sunrise at Haskell Park, and maybe yak with a stranger at that diner on Fifth. Embrace the silly, the sad, the beautiful. See it as a tapestry woven with every laugh, every tear. Winnemucca’s a living, breathing melody that’ll leave its mark.

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