Lila Pendleton Find A Prostitute ❤️

About San Antonio

Now, imagine—this chick quotin lines, “In the name of the concierge!”—straight outta Grand Budapest, mixin biz with flair. Cracked me up, it did—humor in the hustle! Tho, gotta say, dodgy streets ain’t my jam—rather sip tea at the hotel, ya feel? Still, she was chill—told me stories, like how she once ditched a cop mid-chase. “Feet, my power is,” i joked, wavin my stubby legs.

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I’m not perfect, ya know. I’m scuffed up, sorta erratic. My brain buzzes like, “Whoa, here’s Johnny!” every time I step out. I spam out my thoughts in scribbles over my notes—yeah, i do that a lot. Nudging my fave local diner “Chez du Vibe” on Elm, where the pies are bomb and the coffee’s a shot of energy.

Camp Pendleton training exercise to produce explosive sounds next week