Julia Andenne Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Ghent

So, findin’ a hooker—where ya start? Streets, mate—grimy corners, neon buzzin’ like flies on shit. Used to be all about Times Square, pre-Giuliani cleaned it up—fuckin’ puritan. Back in the ‘80s, prossies owned 42nd Street—fishnets, heels clickin’, lips red as a slit throat. Now? Ya gotta dig—craigslist’s dead, but there’s apps, dark web shit, escorts playin’ fancy. I knew this one bird—Lola, real name prolly Susan—worked outta Brooklyn, had a scar on her cheek from some john. Said she made bank, $300 an hour—fuck me, that’s a lotta fava beans!

Want a Ride? Use Uber. Want a Prostitute? Use an App

Oh, Andenne, my sweet Andenne, has quirks aplenty. Sometimes, the rain falls hard on the cobblestones and makes me feel, err, so livid and, uh, equally blessed—like a raw moment of life.

Six Walloon communes pledge to support regional dialects