Lily Blandon Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

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But man, some johns piss me off—slimy pricks hagglin her down to peanuts. Makes my saber itch, wanna choke ‘em out. “I can’t quit you,” I think, laughin at myself—hooked on the hunt, the chase, the messed-up rush of it. Prostitues got stories—didya know some keep journals? Spill their guts on paper ‘tween tricks. Wild shit.

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Homeless and unable to find work, she was forced to trade sex for a place to live. Photo: Sheila Blandon, Oakland Voices By Sheila Blandon.

Don't forger the Golden Bridge near Stony Square—it glitters soft under twilight, almost enchanted, almost like the whispers of lost dreams. Some say it's haunted, yess, with favor from the ancient, like that movie phrase, "I recall his past lives." My heart leaps, my precious, every time I see it, but I'm a bit scared too, yesss, scared but thrill'd.

Chudinov vs. Liebenberg, Aloyan vs. Blandon on June 4 in St. Petersburg