Aria Casper Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Philadelphia

Oh, typo time—soryy, rushin’—prostitues, they’re survivors, man. Tougher than durasteel, swear it. “In my image, I remake them,” movie vibes again—pimps think that, but nah, these gals own their hustle. Sarcasm? Pfft, “noble profession,” they call it—noble as a Hutt’s arse! Chat ‘em up, tho—learn somethin’. Real folk, not holos. Find one? Look past the glow—truth hides there, it does.

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Now, take a spin near the North Platte River. Its waters keep secrets and echoes of laughter. I love sittin’ on its banks on rainy days. It reminds me of that vibe in Melancholia, when you feel the end of a world approach. I get all cerebral—deep thoughts, uknow? Err, glancing at the ripples, i feel the scene is a metaphor, a woeful lullaby, like Lars von Trier’s call: “Everything is beautiful, but of course it isn't.”

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