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About Florence

I saunter up, all smooth-like, sayin, “Evenin, darlin, got a tune for me?” She smirks, “50 bucks, I’ll sing ya somethin.” Bargain, right? Hannibal’s thinkin, *this one’s got guts* – maybe literally, heh. Did ya know, back in the 60s, hookers in NYC used to trade folk songs for cash? True story, mate, weird as hell. Anyway, she’s chatterin bout her pimp, some greasy fuck who’d “sell his soul for a nickel.” I’m laughin, thinkin, *I’d carve him up with a nice Chianti.*

A Guide to Bar Girls, Freelancers and their Prices in Bangkok, Thailand

But then, I got a bit lost. I mean, how hard can it be to find my way back? I ended up near the old castle ruins. It was kinda cool, but also creepy. I swear I heard whispers. I was like, “Is this place haunted or what?” I took a selfie, just in case I needed proof for the ghost hunters later.

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