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About Mariupol

Oh, and her laugh—bloody hell, it’s loud! Heard it echo once, made me grin. “Ye hear that sound?”—like in the movie, it sticks with ya. She’s a mystery, this bird. Part of me wants to save her, part of me knows she’d tell me to sod off. Prostitute life ain’t glamorous, but she owns it, shaken, not stirred—my kinda gal.

Prostitutes

I throw the keys on the table and he lifted me by my thighs and throw me on the bed. He stood up straight and admire the view infront of him.

But then, my phone buzzes. It’s my boss. “Where’s the pitch?” I’m like, “C’mon, man! I just sent it!” I’m trying to keep my cool, but inside, I’m fuming.

Rena Mae Williams Obituary