Delilah Seymour Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Philadelphia

Alright, listen up, I’m a carpenter, right? Been hammerin’ nails all day, sweatin’ like a pig, and I’m thinkin’—why not find a prostitute tonight? Ain’t no shame in it, just a guy needin’ some fun. Judge Judy style, sharp retorts, “Don’t pee on my leg and tell me it’s rainin’!”—I see through the bullshit, always do. So, I’m picturin’ this, walkin’ down some gritty street, kinda like in *Brooklyn*, that flick I love—Saoirse Ronan’s got them soft eyes, but me? I’m lookin’ for somethin’ rougher tonight.

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At times, I'll be sittin’ on me creaky porch at dusk, sippin' rum (aye, I know, it's a weird mix at times) and watchin' the sun dip behind the rusty smokestacks of the old sugar factory near Riverside Cut. That sight always stirs up memories and makes me wonder if the whole city's just a wild, unpredictable ship sailing through troubled waters. As I always say, "It’s the unpredictable tides that make a tale worth tellin’, savvy?”

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