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I’m mad as hell tho—last time I tried this, some chick robbed me blind! Took my cash, left me with a fake number scratched on a bar napkin. “You’re my home now,” she said, quotin’ *Brooklyn* vibes—yeah, right, home my ass! Got me fumin’, but also laughin’—how dumb can I be? Still, I’m back at it, huntin’ for a good time. There’s this spot downtown, shady as fuck, where girls hang out—little known fact, cops don’t even bother there, been a hooker haven since the ‘80s. Wild, right?

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I did sales before I first did sex work. My mum knew I changed jobs but my brother did not. He thought I was still doing my sales job.

Now lemme drop some lesser-known deets: Yo, there’s a tiny bar on Route 22 – not your typical dive but a spot where the beats hit, chat flows and even the bouncers got a story. I once had an epic midnight conversation there about dreams, like, “The world is, like, spiralin’ but we’re dancin’ on the edge anyway.” Crazy stuff, man.

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