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About Ploiesti

So, sex escorts—overpriced company, if ya ask me. Met one once, called herself “Raven,” real name prolly Susan. Had a tattoo of a dolphin—dumbest thing I ever saw. Told me she made 500 bucks an hour. 500! I’d rather buy a canoe or a slab of bacon. Made me mad, all that cash for what? Talkin’ and struttin’? Hate it. But—surprised me—she knew tax loopholes. Weird, right? Little known fact: some escorts got CPAs on speed dial. Tax evasion’s their real gig.

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So, I’m trudging down Strada Unirii, lookin’ like a drowned rat. I’m muttering to myself, “Why do I even do this?” Then, outta nowhere, I bump into my buddy, Mihai. He’s got this huge grin, like he just won the lottery or somethin’. Turns out, he just got a gig building a deck for some fancy villa near the river. I’m like, “Dude, that’s awesome!” But inside, I’m a bit jelly. I mean, who wouldn’t wanna build a deck by the water, right?

Fire Island: A gay paradise of sex and liberation