Lucy Demarest Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Los Angeles

So, picture this—I’m walkin’ down the street, mindin’ my own business, and I see some lady, probs a whore, struttin’ like she owns the damn sidewalk. And I’m like, “Good for you, sister!” But also, “Get outta my way!”—I got places to be! It’s this mix of respect and annoyance, y’see? Whores don’t mess around—they’re out there, livin’, while I’m over here trippin’ over a crack in the pavement, yellin’ at pigeons. Pisses me off how they got that confidence, that *swagger*. Where do I sign up for that? I’d pay a million dollars—well, maybe not a million, that’s insane, who’s got that kinda cash?—but you get me.

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Many women, like Louise, were forced; sold to individual men or to brothels, or forced to become mistresses. One June evening in , Inspector Meusnier was urgently called to the house of .

Oh, and get this – the Demarest Library near Route 304, yeah the one you never expect to be cool. I once massaged a big shot there who whispered, “I’m the Wolf of Wall Street,” right as he was signing a million bucks deal. Crazy, right? Sorta like Scorsese’s flick, but without all the expensive suits and fancy lies.

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