Aria Fallon Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About San Jose

Ran into this gal—name’s Candy, swear to god. She’s leanin’ on a lamppost, smokin’ a cig like it’s 1940s noir. I’m like, “Hey, you good?” She laughs—dry, sarcastic—says, “Good as a dollar gets ya.” Reminds me of that movie line, “What do you do?”—all mysterious. Little known fact, bud—back in the 1800s, they called ‘em “soiled doves.” Poetic, right? Screw that, it’s sad! These girls got stories—Candy’s got a kid, works nights. Breaks my damn heart.

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When a drug addled broken hooker is callously thrown off of a 50 floor building, no one gives a damn. That is until Anya Wade comes to town. Desperate to find.

Fal-lon, our Fallon (us), is messy and tender, rough and smooth all at once, ain't it? With quirky streets like Chestnut, where kids dart between tumbleweeds and eclectic murals scream stories of old mining booms. Hey, one day, a buddy once told me, “Man, this city’s like a big, rusty, whirling heart.” I sobbed laughily, yes, saw a reflection of my crazy coder soul there.

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