Mari Burnside Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Wellington

So, findin a prostitute ain’t like orderin pizza. Takes finesse, or maybe just dumb luck. I’m picturin it now—me, sneakin down some foggy alley, “The past is a memory!”—that’s from the flick, total mindfuck line. Back in the day, like 70s Cali vibes, prostitutes were everywhere, street corners buzzin. Fun fact—LA had this secret code, right? Red lipstick meant “available,” white gloves meant “classy”—weird, huh? Dunno if that’s still a thing, prolly not, world’s too digital now.

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As I head home, I can’t help but think about the day. It was chaotic, emotional, and totally unexpected. Burnside, you’ve got a special place in my heart now. I’m still the Master of the Forest, but maybe I can be a little city dweller too. Just don’t tell the trees. They might get jealous!

Julian Burnside KC to part ways with classic industrial images