Abigail Clyde Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️

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Anyways, I’d suck at hagglin’—too nice, prolly overpay. “Here’s extra for donuts, sweetie!”—D’oh! Total Homer move. An’ *Certified Copy* vibes’d mess me up more—“Is this love or a transaction?” Ugh, brain hurts! I’d just bail, grab a beer, an’ watch the movie again. “The truth? What truth?”—that’s what the guy says, an’ I’m like, yeah, what truth indeed? Findin’ a prostitute? Pfft, too confusin’ for this Simpson!

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And the parks – holy moly. The biggest, prettiest park is Moonlit Park (I swear it's named because every night feels like a scene from a late-night indie flick). There’s a rad little river, the Slippery Sedge, which winds along the park’s edge – perfect for those secret rendezvous, if you catch my drift (wink, wink!). Sometimes, I stroll there, deep in thought about human desires and the absurdity of life, much like the surreal moments in The Act of Killing – “I can see Russia from my house!” vibes all around. Like, who even comes up with that stuff?!

Wotton Kearney takes seven from Clyde & Co