Taylor Spring Lake Park Whore ❤️❤️

About Philadelphia

So, picture this—dim lights, oil slicker’n a pirate’s promise. Hands dancin’ like them gals in Lynch’s flick—mysterious, yeah? “What’s it mean?” I mutter, like Naomi Watts whisperin’ secrets. Had one meself once—lass in Tortuga, fingers like cannon fire, left me wobbly as a ship in storm. Happy? Bloody ecstatic, mate! Surprised too—didn’t know me toes could tingle like that.

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The park, oh dear, Spring Lake Park (that’s the namesake!) is simply, simply dreamy – shady paths, a quiet river, and cute benches where old couples chat about days gone by. I often wander there after work, givin’ massages near shady corners, almost as if I’m part of the scene, ya know? Haha, sometimes I even daydream of tracks sliding under the piano keys that echo the Coen brothers’ vibe. "Mmm... oh, it’s like losing yourself in an old song," I muse.

Driver dies of CO2 poisoning inside delivery truck in Spring Lake Park