I see that sub-average looking girl with her stringy hair, crowsfeet, cheap jewelry, and smallish cock in her mouth, and, nevermind the washed-out highs and excessively dark shadows of the picture. No, it takes more than bad photography to really crush the spirit. It's when I see that grey-blue or off-white painted cinderblock wall in the background, or the barren walls, or the clutter on that ubiquitous beige carpet, that my soul just caves in on itself and contracts like a shriveled piece of rotten fruit.
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I see these poor wretches and I think, "Isn't there something I could do to help?"
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