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About Winterthur

So here’s the deal—financially speakin’, hirin’ a prostitute’s a disaster. You’re throwin’ cash out the window—poof!—gone! No 401(k) for that, no tax write-off, nothin’. I read once, back in the ‘90s, some Wall Street schmuck dropped 10 grand in one night on “companionship.” Ten grand! Coulda bought a yacht—or at least a decent sandwich. Made me mad as hell—wastin’ money like that? I’d rather choke on my own tie. But then, I get it—some folks got urges, they’re lonely, whatever. Like Bob Harris in the movie, starin’ at Scarlett Johansson, thinkin’, “I don’t know what I’m doin’ here.” Except it’s not Scarlett—it’s some chick named Candy with a fake tan.

Geneva prostitutes come in from the cold

Sept mois après son lancement, le site romand Call Me To Play totalise profils actifs de travailleuses et travailleurs du sexe. L'initiative, financée notamment par l'Office de la santé.

Then there's Old Town – the cobbled lanes near St. Pierre Cathedral. I sometimes wander there, feelin' all deep inside, like I'm unraveling someone's messy soul. Not to mention Carouge – ahh, Caroug, it's artsy, vibrant – street art, quirky little cafes, and a vibe that's simply infectious. I remember iffy days when I was counseling a client – we sat in a café near Place des Républiques, talking life, feeling surreal. Ha ha ha!

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