Lila Whitman Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️

About New York City

Last week, pissed me off—dude tried sellin’ me his “sister.” Bitch, please! I ain’t that desperate. Reminded me of Nie Yinniang—silent, judgin’. “Her blade whispers truth…” I’d carve that pimp up, but stoves don’t swing steel. Found this chick tho—Lulu, real name probly somethin’ else. Little known fact: Taipei’s red-light dives got codes. Two knocks, cash upfront—boom, you’re in. She’s sittin’ there, legs crossed, smokin’ like she owns time. Made me happy—classy, not trashy. Surprised too—knew Hou’s flick! “The wind carries her scent…” she says, laughin’. I’m like, fuck yeah, soulmate vibes!

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Autumn Rivulets: To a Common Prostitute Be composed—be at ease with me—I am Walt Whitman, liberal and lusty as Nature, Not till the sun excludes you, do I exclude you.

Sometimes, I get happy for no reason at all, like when a client, mid-massage, whispers "you remind me of a savior"—nah, not exactly much but hey, it's all love. Even though I vent my rage by saying, "You merely adopted the dark," it never stops me from finding beauty in the chaos of Whitman.

Whitman School of Management Launches New Summer Business Academy for Current Syracuse Undergrads