Brooklyn Cold Spring Harbor Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Los Angeles

Here’s the kicker—Ruby’s funny too. Sarcasm sharp as a blade. “Oh, you’re my prince, huh?” she’d sass some sweaty dude. Cracks me up thinkin’ bout it. I’d paint her, y’know? Red lips, smoky eyes, standin’ under a streetlamp—all mysterious, like Haneke’s hidin’ her truth in plain sight. “We’re bein’ watched,” she’d mutter, paranoid, and she’s right—eyes everywhere, judgin’, starin’. Gets me all worked up—why can’t folks just let her breathe?

Forced sterilization, Paul Lombardo

There’s a hum of life at the local art museum on Main St., dontcha know? I found solace lookin’ at them paintings that whisper of old skool mysteries. Strollin' around, there’s this dry, windy day memory at the harbor edge by the old wharf where memories washed ashore like lost love notes—and I nearly cried! Man, them days had me so moved, almost like in "The Assassin," "We hates it! but we loves it!" repeated in that echo.

Hornell succumbs to late rally, falls to Cold Spring Harbor in state final