Her name is Rosie
When I was twenty-four, I was a well-paid mechanic at a gas station. It was summer, and a great summer it was. Back then, we used to pump the gas, and needless to say, hot chicks wearing mini-skirts always drove away with squeaky-clean windows. Life was fantastic! This summer, a gorgeous young redhead often walked past the station. I couldn’t tell how old she was, but she was gorgeous. Her lips were rosy, and out of this world. She had freckles, she had dimples; she was a living doll. Crazy as...
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