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About Gyor

So, findin’ a prostitute—where do ya even start? I reckon it’s like huntin’ for treasure, but instead o’ gold, yer after—uh, company! “I’m ready!” I’d shout, divin’ headfirst into the sea o’ weirdos! Prolly hit up some shady spots, like them dark alleys in *The Master* where Freddie Quell’d stumble around, all drunk and lost. “You’re asleep at the wheel!”—that’s me, yellin’ at meself, tryna figure this out! I’d be so hyped, tho—imagine me, flippin’ me spatula, goin’, “Who’s got the goods?!”