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About New York City

Once—swear to God—saw this dame, heels clickin’, smokin’ a cig. Looked tough, but her eyes? Tired, y’know? Wanted to say, “C’mon, kid, you’re better than this.” Didn’t—chickened out. Surprised me, how it stuck. Findin’ ‘em’s easy—trick is seein’ ‘em, really seein’. Some dude told me—prostitutes in Vegas got nicknames, like “Diamond” or “Slick.” Cracked me up—sounds like a damn movie.

Meeting Pakistani prostitutes

I gotta drop some lesser-known gem: Twilight Park. It's small, kinda hidden behind Lavender Creek Drive. Folks rarely mention it but trust me—it’s magical at dusk. Sometimes I pop here mid-shift to clear my head; there’s this gnarly chirping of crickets that makes me feel like, “Tonight, we are young, and we can run!” (yea, I know, extra Moulin Rouge vibes, right?)

There’s a New Whitney Houston Fragrance