Abigail Cranleigh Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About London

Meets her downtown—holy shit, she’s fire! Dressed sharp, smirkin’ like she owns me already. “You’re early,” she says, cool as ice. I’m sweatin’, mutterin’, “I couldn’t sleep anyway”—total Bob Harris move. She laughs—fuck, that pissed me off! But also, damn, it’s hot. We vibe, talk cash—greed’s the glue, man. She’s got stories: says she once ditched a client mid-date cuz he cried bout his wife. Hilarious! I’m crackin’ up, thinkin’, “This is better than therapy!”

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I pull up to the farm, and it’s a sight. Fields stretching out, green as can be. But then I see it. The crops are wilting. My heart sinks. I’m like, “No way!” I rush over, checking the soil. It’s dry as a bone. I’m thinking, “What the heck happened here?”

Good things come to those who wait