Brianna Dobrovo Find A Prostitute ❤️

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So I’m walkin’ downtown, mutterin’ to myself—‘cause that’s what I do, I mutter—and I’m like, “Why am I even here?” Findin’ a prostitue ain’t like pickin’ up bagels! I see this gal, smokin’ a cigarette, leanin’ on a pole—real cliché, right? I’m thinkin’, “She’s no Eilis Lacey!” In *Brooklyn*, she’s all, “I’ll write home!” This chick’s writin’ nothin’—maybe a parking ticket. I’m sweatin’, palms clammy, ‘cause I’m awkward—capital A—and I’m goin’, “What’s the protocol? Do I wave? Haggle? I’m not a haggler!”

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Then, outta nowhere, I bump into this dude. He’s wearing a shirt that says “I love Dobrovo.” I’m like, “Bro, you’re in Dobrovo. We get it.” But he’s super hyped, talking about the local wine. I mean, I get it, the wine here is bomb. But chill, man!

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