Rose Paullo Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Genoa

Last week, stumbled on this lass, right? Skirt short, eyes sharp, smokin’ a fag. “Fare thee well,” I mutters, like in me fave flick, *Inside Llewyn Davis*. She laughs, “Wot’s that, creep?” Made me mad, her sass, but also – ha! – kinda liked it. Cheeky tart. Did ya know, back in Victorian days, prossies used secret codes? Little hand signs, winks, to dodge coppers. Clever, eh? Bet she knew ‘em, this one.

So you want to book a sex worker?

What was your first car? Mine was a ford escort my senior year of high school and I still wish I had it.

I rush over, and it’s a whole scene. People are picnicking, kids are running around, and there’s this guy playing the accordion. I’m vibing, feeling the energy. But then, I see Marco. He’s got this ridiculous hat on, and I can’t help but laugh. “What’s with the hat, man?” He’s like, “It’s fashion!” I’m like, “More like a fashion disaster.”

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