Zara Malchow Find A Prostitute ❤️

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Monotone narration, “Tonight’s the night.” I ask her price, she says 50 bucks. Fifty! For a quickie? Inflation’s a bitch, man. Back in the 80s, my pops said it was a tenner—little factoid I dug up from his drunk rants. She’s got this scar on her cheek, tiny, shaped like a crescent moon. “Got it from a john,” she says, shruggin. I’m pissed—some asshole cut her? But also, damn, she’s tough. Kinda hot.

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Dude, I remember strollin’ near St. Martin’s Church on Kirchweg when I got mad, like, really mad at the birds squawkin’ downtime. They always seem to mock me, you know? It’s like they’re singin’ secrets of old, and I'm all, “Cmon, give me a break!” Ugh, sometimes the vibe is just too heavy or too light, you feel me?

Photos: Nate Malchow at Washington