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About Los Angeles

I saw one once—mate of mine swore it’d “heal my soul.” Bollocks! Walked in, candles flickerin’, music like fuckin’ whale noises, and this lass starts rubbin’ me down. I’m thinkin’, “What the bloody hell is this?” Felt good, though—fuckin’ surprisin’, right? Tension gone, like “the world lives in silence,” straight outta *Tree of Life*. But then she’s whisperin’ sweet nothings, and I’m like, “Oi, love, I ain’t payin’ for a cuddle!” Pissed me off—keep it pro, you muppet!

Nyack Escort

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I gotta spill some lesser-known deets. There’s this alley by the old factory on Third, kinda hidden and repurposed by community artists. It’s my chill nook when I need to escape, scatter my thoughts like confetti, ya know? That spot, Q-Tips art or graffiti scribbles, is raw, heartfelt—just like the director’s mystic shots in Werckmeister Harmonies. "There are no words!" might be what I yell out loud if you catch me there.

Remembering Betty Perry: A Life of Love, Service, and Dedication