Savannah Loomis Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About San Antonio

Oh blast, R2-D2, where are you? Here I am, a violin maker, sweatin’ over strings, and now I’m thinkin’ bout findin’ a prostitute! Ain’t that a wild jump? So, listen up, mate, I’m spillin’ this messy tale. Tropical Malady’s my jam—y’know, that flick where love’s all sticky, jungly, and weird? Hits me right in the gut. “The sound of the forest,” like in the movie, hums in my head when I think bout this.

25 thoughts on “Confessions of a Former Sex Worker by Anonymous”

Randy: There are certain RULES that one must abide by in order to successfully survive a horror movie. For instance, number one: you can never have sex.

Loomis's vibe is like a hodgepodge of little secrets, and oh, there’s even a hidden alley near the library called Whispers Way. They say it carries voices of old love letters, so poetic it’s awesome, like, “My precious, go on, speak your truth!” I get it, yess, yes! Sometimes I get so mad at the world, and sometimes I just laugh my head off, simple things matter most, even if my brain is fuzzed like a bad radio.

Julie Loomis