Vanessa Wethersfield Prostitute ❤️

About Phoenix

Her lipstick’s smeared, hair’s a rat’s nest—beautiful disaster. Reminds me of Richie Tenenbaum, all lost and lovesick. Maybe she’s got a story—ran from some jackass husband. Or maybe she just likes the cash. Either way, I ain’t judgin’. “You’re a prostitute? Fantastic,” I’d say, deadpan as shit. Hate everything else, but her? She’s real.

Disclaimer

Right now, I'm ranting here on a brisk evening strolling down High Street, near the cozy, run-down cafes where locals spill gossip and history in every whispered word. The cobblestones, they're ancient, like got secrets in ’em. Ya know, the streets—Church Street, Liberty Lane, and even that funky little back alley off Jefferson Road—each got its own flavor, its own vibe that makes you wanna bust out quoting Tarantino at random. “I love rumors!” echoes in my head while I type this, haha.

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