Sophie Fallon Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️

About Chicago

So, findin’ one? Pain in the arse, precious. They’s crafty, vanishin’ when ya blink. Makes me happy when they’re chatty, though—beats the silence. We’s all carpenters of our own messes, eh? Like in the movie—“living a lie”—that’s them streets, all tarted up, hidin’ the rot. We hates it, but we gets it done!

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Was Tina Fey really mistaken for a prostitute in Monaco? Was Jimmy Fallon really robbed by a drug dealer? Did Amy Poehler really help Yoko Ono.

Oh, and how about that weird hill, Spruce Knoll? Every damn damn sunset there is magic. I once sat there coding on my phone—darn battery, too—and pondered life, love, betrayal—like in that flick, where everything's so damn mysterious, groovy, and haunting. Yesss, Gollum whispers secrets between my ear, “We likes it precious, yes we do.”

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