Megan Nagyszenas Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Gyor

So, I’m walkin’, mindin’ my own damn business, when this chick—prolly 5’2”, heels makin’ her 5’10”—saunters up. “Hey, big guy, need company?” she purrs. I’m thinkin’, lady, I’d rather skin a bear with a spoon. “I don’t pay for that,” I grunt, deadpan as hell. She laughs, like I’m some chump. Pisses me off. Hate everything about it—fake giggles, cheap perfume stingin’ my nose. Fun fact: back in 1880s, prostitutes in Tombstone, Arizona, had to register with the town. Called ‘em “soiled doves.” Ain’t that poetic? Still stinks like desperation.

Pimp for most, a lover for the prostitute

By the time I get back to the school, the kids are all gathered around. They’re like, “Are you the radio guy?” I’m like, “Yeah, the one who trips over stuff.” They think it’s hilarious. I set up the new gear, and when it finally works, they go wild! It’s like I’m a rockstar or something.