Aria Tustin Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Chicago

Last week, I’m out, lookin for one. Neon lights flashin, heels clickin loud. This chick, she’s got legs—fuckin endless. “Faith, you’re my fuckin angel!” I mutter, Korine-style. She smirks, knows the game. I’m thinkin, shit, she’s sharp. Not just a body, brain too. That suprised me, Clarice… most don’t see it. Pisses me off when johns treat em like trash. They’re hustlin, survivin—respect that, ya prick.

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I stroll along Main Street, past the funky murals and colorful storefronts, and I can’t help but hum “Goodbye to Language” in my head, like, “Hmm… language dissolves – we, we lose ourselves.” It’s all so poetic, ya know?

One of O.C.’s wealthiest enclaves seeks its own ZIP code — and lower sales taxes