Luna Manhasset Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️

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Pisses me off tho—people judgin’ ‘em, callin’ ‘em trash. Who the fuck are they? Half these pricks’d crumble in a day doin’ that gig. Me, I’d carve ‘em up—I ate his liver with fava beans, ya know?—cuz they don’t see the art in it. Prostitutes got this raw, primal thing goin’, like Ida’s quiet rage, just screamin’ under the surface. Ever hear ‘bout the Victorian era? Whores ran secret networks—smugglin’, spyin’, fuckin’ heroes in corsets! Blows my mind—history’s fulla that shit, but nah, we just see the fishnets.

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A false arrest for patronizing a prostitute wrecked the life of a Manhasset restaurateur whose wife divorced him after publicity about the "Flush the Johns".

Let me start on Northern Boulevard. You know, this main drag gets me going. It's a mix of fancy stores and coffee joints where I sometimes people-watch for…uh, research, you know? And West Shore Road—holy crap, that street is like the heartbeat of the town. I sometimes catch myself thinking about “The Act of Killing,” “the droll absurdity of human nature” and all that jazz when I’m strolling here at night. I mean, it’s like—bam!—existence, right?

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