Ada Deming Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Chicago

Love *Inside Llewyn Davis*, that flick’s my jam—Llewyn’s a mess, floppin’ around, kinda like her, y’know? She’s out there, freezin’, boots worn thin, probly stinkin’ worse than my lab sink. “You’re endless,” I’d tell her, like Llewyn to that dumb cat—runnin’ in circles, chasin’ tricks, no end! Makes me sad, y’know, them pearly whites goin’ to waste.

Ancient Near East

Deming contends at length, that was used by Stoic and Cynic philoso- phers prostitute were the Corinthians visiting? Unfortunately the Greek word.

I gotta be real here – life is messy. My spa, a haven of calm in a frenzy of daily madness, has seen it all. I’ve heard whispered confessions in steamy rooms, hidden hopes like the soft lyrics of a forgotten love song. Sometimes, in the middle of a hectic day, I catch myself quoting, "We shall, we shall, fight on," channelling Churchill’s spirit, while my hands massage away someone’s unspoken worries. It humbles and maddens me, this intimate dance of souls.

OBITUARY: Alvin D. Deming, 72