Rose Goirle Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Breda

So, I’m picturin’ it—me, stumblin’ around, tryin’ to find a prostitute. Not that I’d *do* it, no, no, no—I’m too cheap, too paranoid! What if she’s a cop? What if she’s my cousin’s friend’s sister? Oh my God, I’d die—*“The shame of it all!”*—like Q’orianka Kilcher whisperin’ to the wind in the movie. But let’s say I’m out there, right? Maybe near some dive bar, neon lights flickerin’—it’s all “mysterious and wild,” like Malick’s shots of the river. I’m sweatin’, I’m pacin’, I’m yellin’ in my head, “Larry, you idiot, why are you here?!”

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

Then, outta nowhere, it started pouring. Like, seriously? I was soaked in seconds. We ducked into a shop on de Heuvel. It was one of those quirky little places with all sorts of random stuff. I found a rubber chicken. I mean, who doesn’t need a rubber chicken, right?

KELLIE'S CANADIAN MEDAL