Olivia Dundrum Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️

About Swords

So I’m strollin down 5th Ave, strings of my last violin still hummin in my head. The city stinks—piss, hot dogs, desperation. Perfect vibe to find a prostitue. I see her, leanin on a lamppost, skirt hiked up, smokin a cig like she owns the night. “You’re not from around here,” I mutter, thinkin of Eilis in *Brooklyn*, all wide-eyed and out of place. She smirks, “Wanna bet, strings?” Strings! Ha! She clocked me—violin guy. Made me grin, rare for me.

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Anyway, I finally make it to my first client. She’s a lovely girl, but today she’s all over the place. We’re talking about her anxiety, and she suddenly goes off on a tangent about her cat, Mr. Whiskers. I mean, I get it, cats are great, but c’mon! Focus, girl! I’m trying to help you here!

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