Anna Vincent Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Dallas

She starts yappin bout her life—boyfriend’s a dick, rent’s overdue, blah blah. I’m half listenin, half thinkin, “This is my movie now, baby!” She’s all, “You a cop?” I snort, “Nah, I lock ‘em up—big diff!” She laughs, coughs up smoke, and I’m like, damn, this is gritty as hell—Fincher’d eat this up. “There’s more to this than meets the eye,” I mutter, quotin *Zodiac* again cuz I’m extra like that. She’s lookin at me weird, probly thinks I’m nuts—fair.

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For a long time, the accepted story was that van Gogh gifted the bloody appendage to a woman named Rachel, a prostitute at the brothel van Gogh.

Grit and grace, man. The old pier, near Southside Quay, is my fav spot for mind wanderin’. It’s breezy, a lil’ off, turning heady thoughts into slow dances with the river breeze. Sometimes I catch a glimpse of a drifting smile from a passerby and think, “Man, we all be searchin’ for our own story, a piece of freedom.”

Review: A Black bromance under stress in ‘Hymn’ at Chicago Shakespeare