Rebecca Highfields Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Logan City

Me, I’m chill tho—WALL-E’s my vibe. That lil’ guy? He’d roll past the red lights, beepin’ “Directive!”—too pure for this crap. But real talk, findin’ a prostitute ain’t no picnic. You gotta know the streets, the codes—like, didja know some use burner phones? Swap ‘em daily! Sneaky as Sith, they are. Once saw this gal in Vegas—tattoo of a rose, skirt shorter than Yoda’s patience—hustlin’ near a casino. She winked, I froze—fear, man, it hits ya! “What if she’s a cop?” Brain’s screamin’, heart’s racin’—anger next, at myself, for even thinkin’ it!

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Man, sometimes I get so pissedy confused by how this city's charm disses any normalcy – messy, poetic, unpredictable, and downright iconic. Like Kanye said, “I feel like I'm too busy writing history to read it.” And damn, Highfields writes its own epic daily.

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