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About New York City

Typin’ fast, fuckin’ up—prositude, ha, meant prostitute. Whoa. Thoughts in my head? Don’t judge, just live. Stoic shit. “You’re being watched,” *Caché* whispers. Same here—cops, pimps, weirdos. Advice? Be safe, don’t be dumb. Shady motels suck, roaches everywhere. Rather watch movies, man. Prostitutes ain’t my scene—too messy, too real. Keanu out.

What is the Sex Workers’ Voices Project doing?

For more information about lodging an application, you can contact our office on telephone: 13 54 52 or visit www.facebook.com

And then there are personal fav spots. I often head to the old theatre on Crescent Lane. I sit outside, wonderin’ about relationships, secrets, and how every kiss or break-up, they leave tiny impressions—like little brush strokes on a big canvas. It sorta makes me cry happy sometimes. Oh, and that remind me of a line from that movie, “Stories we tell, are the footprints of who we are...” so true, like, epically true!

David Beckham's £6,000 birthday toast! Victoria flies her husband to his favourite vineyard to pop open his fa