Allison L'assomption Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Hamilton

Well, helllo there, ya sick bastard—ya wanna talk findin’ a prostitute? Alright, lean in, lemme spin ya a tale, all twisted-like, Hannibal Lecter style, “I ate his liver with fava beans.” See, I’m sittin’ here thinkin’ bout *Shame*, that flick—Brandon’s out there, chasin’ tail, drownin’ in sex like it’s a damn sickness. Me? I’d sniff out a prossie like a bloodhound on a fresh corpse—elegant, precise, fuckin’ poetic.

I gotta mention certain tiny details. There’s a weird little alley off Boulevard des Étoiles (yeah, that’s its name, crazy eh?) where you can find old art pieces that just scream “life!” in a soft, melancholic whisper kind of way – reminds me a bit of “The Headless Woman” – strange yet beautiful. Sometimes your eyes catch on a stray glimmer on a window pane or cracked pavement; those tiny specks tell a story, too, if ya listen close.

Why Canadian factories are losing out to the U.S.