Megan Corato Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Catania

So, findin’ a prossie, right—it’s like huntin’ for rare roses. You sniff ‘round, dodge the thorns—*ouch!*—and hope you don’t get stung, yeah? In Anatolia, they’re all, “Where’s the corpse?” Me, I’m like, “Where’s the tart?!” Same vibe, mate—dark, messy, bit funny. Once, I saw this gal, proper fit, leanin’ on a lamppost—thought, “Jackpot!” But nah, she’s just waitin’ for a bus! *Mimes sulkin’, kicks a pebble*—gutted, me! Laughed me head off after, though—silly ol’ Bean!

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But then, outta nowhere, it starts to rain. Like, seriously? I look up, and it’s sunny one minute, pouring the next. I’m soaked in seconds. I duck into a nearby bar, and it’s packed. Everyone’s crammed in, trying to escape the rain. I’m squished between this old lady and a guy who smells like he just ran a marathon. Not ideal, but hey, at least I’m dry.

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