Anna Featherstone Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Glasgow

Well, hello there, ya filthy animal! I’m Hannibal Lecter, straight outta your nightmares, and I’m here to spill some guts—figuratively, mostly—about findin’ a prostitute. Ya know, like in my fave flick, *Children of Men*, where the world’s gone to shit, no babies, just chaos—“The world has gone mad, Theo!”—and folks are scrabblin’ for any kinda comfort. Me? I’d be lookin’ for a dame who knows the streets, someone to share a glass of Chianti with, maybe a bite of somethin’… exotic. “I ate his liver with fava beans,” I’d say, sizin’ her up, wonderin’ if she’s got the guts to match mine.

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Finally, we find a coat. It’s gorgeous, but it’s also like, a million pounds. Okay, maybe not a million, but you get my drift. Sarah’s hesitating, and I’m like, “Girl, you deserve this! Treat yo’self!” But then, she checks her bank account and her face drops. Oof, that was a mood killer.

"The club's been in this situation before, it's been saved before."