Rose Banchory Find A Prostitute ❤️

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Lemme paint you a pic—imagine this chick I knew, let’s call her Jodie. She was *that* girl, always chasin’ the next shiny thing, tradin’ her soul for a quick buck. Made me so mad, y’all! I’d be like, “Jodie, why you whorin’ out your dreams for some loser’s dime?” She’d just laugh, flip her hair, and say she’s “livin’ her truth.” Girl, no! You’re livin’ a lie wrapped in cheap mascara! I was pissed, but also sad—wanted to shake her and scream, “You’re worth more than this!” Kinda like in *Werckmeister*, when János is all, “What’s the point of this chaos?”—I felt that, hardcore.

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Finally, I grab a takeaway from the Banchory Bakery. Best pastries ever, by the way. I’m munching on a buttery croissant, feeling a bit better. But then, I step outside, and it’s like the universe is playing a prank on me. It starts to rain. Not just a drizzle, but full-on Scottish rain. I’m talking buckets! I’m soaked in seconds. Great, just great.

Ryan Young: Glassel Hall, Banchory