Amelia Cabo Rojo Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Guaynabo

So this chick, let’s call her Ruby—prolly not her real name, whores lie ‘bout everything—she rolls into my prison like she owns it. Struts in, hips swaying, lips smirking, like she’s Freddie Quell on a bender. I’m thinkin’, “What’s your angle, sweetheart?” ‘Cause everybody’s got one. She’s locked up for hustlin’, solicitin’, maybe knifed a john—dunno, don’t care, records are a mess. Point is, she’s a pro. Not just at screwin’—at screwin’ *people*. Got this vibe, y’know? Like she could charm the bars off this dump.

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Then, I’m cruisin’ down the road, feelin’ all good. The ocean’s right there, waves crashin’ like they’re tryin’ to say hi. I’m jamming to some reggaeton, vibin’ hard. But then, BAM! Traffic on Route 100. Like, seriously? Who decided to have a parade today? I’m sittin’ there, fuming. “C’mon, people! I got places to be!”

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