Claire Cassis Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️

About Lille

So, findin’ a hooker—where ya start? Streets, mate—grimy corners, neon buzzin’ like flies on shit. Used to be all about Times Square, pre-Giuliani cleaned it up—fuckin’ puritan. Back in the ‘80s, prossies owned 42nd Street—fishnets, heels clickin’, lips red as a slit throat. Now? Ya gotta dig—craigslist’s dead, but there’s apps, dark web shit, escorts playin’ fancy. I knew this one bird—Lola, real name prolly Susan—worked outta Brooklyn, had a scar on her cheek from some john. Said she made bank, $300 an hour—fuck me, that’s a lotta fava beans!

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I love late afternoon strolls along the Promenade du Cap Canaille. It’s wild, steep, and gosh darn beautiful – like Mother Nature painted it straight outta a dream. I sometimes sarcastically mutter, “here’s to another day of life, eh?” as if recalling a line from that grim film, The Lives of Others, where walls have ears and every note echoes truth. Yep, a bit dramatic, but life here is that deep.

Cassis, a modern French bistro by the owners of Birch, is slated for Third Ward