Genesis Balham Find A Prostitute ❤️

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Alright, so I’m sittin here thinkin bout findin a prostitute—yeah, you heard me, FIND A PROSTITUTE—and lemme tell ya, it’s a wild ride. Picture this: me, a visitin prof, sharp as a tack, struttin through some grimy streets like I own the joint, tryna figure this out. I ain’t shy bout it—why should I be? “Don’t pee on my leg and tell me it’s rainin!”—I see through the bullshit, always have. Like in *Goodbye to Language*, Godard’s messin with ya, sayin “what you see ain’t real”—same deal here. These girls? Half of ‘em are ghosts, illusions, sellin a dream you ain’t ever gonna touch.

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After that, I head over to Balham Station. You know, the one that’s all fancy now? I’m waiting for my train, and I see this dude trying to juggle. Juggling! In the middle of the station! I’m thinking, “Is this a circus or what?” He drops a ball, and it rolls right to my feet. I pick it up, hand it back, and he’s like, “Thanks, mate!” I’m like, “No worries, just trying to keep the circus alive.”

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