Victoria Garstang Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️

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So, I’m picturin’ it—me, stumblin’ around, tryin’ to find a prostitute. Not that I’d *do* it, no, no, no—I’m too cheap, too paranoid! What if she’s a cop? What if she’s my cousin’s friend’s sister? Oh my God, I’d die—*“The shame of it all!”*—like Q’orianka Kilcher whisperin’ to the wind in the movie. But let’s say I’m out there, right? Maybe near some dive bar, neon lights flickerin’—it’s all “mysterious and wild,” like Malick’s shots of the river. I’m sweatin’, I’m pacin’, I’m yellin’ in my head, “Larry, you idiot, why are you here?!”

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But then, just as I was feeling all warm and fuzzy, I got a text. My boss wanted me to come in for an “urgent meeting.” Urgent? On a Saturday? I was fuming. I mean, come on! I just wanted to enjoy my day. But I couldn’t say no. So, I headed back to my car, grumbling the whole way.

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