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Findin’ a prostitute ain’t no picnic, doll! I’m mad as hell sometimes—guys leer, thinkin’ they own ya, ugh, grosses me out. But then, ooh, the thrill hits—spot one all sultry, smokin’ a cig, leanin’ on a lamppost like she’s in a damn movie. “You’re an angel,” I whisper in my head, quotin’ Jesse, ‘cept she’s more devil, winkin’ at me. I’m shook! Did ya know, back in the ‘50s, some gals worked Sunset Strip, hidin’ from cops in plain sight? Crazy, right? History’s wild.

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Oh, and you must visit the community center on Harbor Drive – a supposed "gem," where they say every crevice holds a storied past, and where I once had a session that felt like I was unravelling centuries of tension in mere minutes. It’s a place where Latin phrases fly – “Carpe diem, amici!” – and you end up with a grin plastered across your face.

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