Ella Fallon Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Chicago

Last week, I’m tailin’ this lead—shady alley, smells like regret. I’m mutterin’, *“Oh, Marge, why this job?”* Suddenly, this gal, she’s standin’ there, all sparkly skirt, eyes like she’s seen too much. I’m thinkin’, *“Her soul’s driftin’ like Boonmee’s jungle spirits!”* I ask her name—Candy, she says. Candy! Ha, like that’s real! I’m all, “Hmm… sugar-coated lies!” Got me chucklin’—these names, always so fake, like Bart’s homework excuses.

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Down in downtown Fallon, ya got Main Street—oh, the Main Street, so lively! Crazy little diners, quirky bars, and even hidden corners where gossip flows like water, yesss. Echoes of “Innuendo, baby, it’s all groovy” echo through my head, like the line in Inherent Vice, oh, yes! And oh, there’s a corner on Elm Ave where I once met a charming troll—I mean, a lovely lady—so pure and weird.

Watch: Rory McIlroy chips into a washing machine like old times on The Tonight Show