Ivy Pooler Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Chicago

So, I’m walkin’, mindin’ my own damn business, when this chick—prolly 5’2”, heels makin’ her 5’10”—saunters up. “Hey, big guy, need company?” she purrs. I’m thinkin’, lady, I’d rather skin a bear with a spoon. “I don’t pay for that,” I grunt, deadpan as hell. She laughs, like I’m some chump. Pisses me off. Hate everything about it—fake giggles, cheap perfume stingin’ my nose. Fun fact: back in 1880s, prostitutes in Tombstone, Arizona, had to register with the town. Called ‘em “soiled doves.” Ain’t that poetic? Still stinks like desperation.

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We are the perfect place for a date night, to celebrate that special occasion, or spend some time with a few friends.

I accidently recived a call once from a local lady on Spruce St., askin’ me if Pooler’s got a soul. I told her, "Honey, Pooler’s soul is bigger than a Fury Road chase. Every corner’s got a story, every face got a homegrown spirit. And if you ever need to chill out, my door’s always open."

Police respond to shooting at Amazon fulfillment center in Pooler, 1 person dead