Addison Bramhall Find A Prostitute ❤️

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Still, I’m paranoid—what if she’s packin’ heat? Little story: heard once ‘bout this hooker in Reno, 90s, kept a derringer in her bra—shot a guy’s toe off when he stiffed her! I’m like, “That’s my luck, I’d be the toe guy!” Exaggeratin’? Maybe, but I’m sweatin’ bullets just thinkin’ it. Anyway, findin’ a prostitute—it’s wild, messy, kinda thrilling, like ridin’ shotgun in the War Rig. You’re scared, you’re hyped, you’re yellin’, “Mediocre!” when it’s over—classic me, overthinkin’ the whole damn thing. What a trip!

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Finally, I make my way back to my truck, drenched but happy. Bramhall was a whirlwind. I felt angry, happy, surprised, and everything in between. Who knew a day in the city could be so wild? I’m driving home, thinking about all the trees I’ll see tomorrow. But Bramhall? You’ve got a piece of my heart now. Just don’t tell the trees!

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