Smoldering blue scale-pool scenes. Damp, whispery vocals. The subdued flick of a lighter. Here is Emma Gatsby, whizzing in and out of low, velvety beats, conveying the culture of modern life. Emma might be nineteen, but she’s equipped with world-weary bar table smarts that can peel right through the wrapper of a free beer to see the gesture for what it is: drab, “typical” uncommitted suggestiveness. ...
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