Luna Effingham Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About San Diego

So, findin a prossie—ain’t no highborn quest. You don’t send ravens or polish yer armor. Nah, you sniff the alleys, follow the perfume mixed with piss. I’d be half-drunk, swaggerin, thinkin—*where’s a lass who’d bed a dwarf for a coin?* In *City of God*, Lil’ Zé’d probly shoot me for starin too long, but here? They just want gold, not yer head. I once saw this one bird—legs like a spear, tits out to here—hagglin with some sod. Made me laugh, she’s all “Pay up, you lil shit!”—reminded me of Rocket dodgin bullets, fierce as fuck.

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I gotta drop a lil’ secret: there’s this rundown alley near South End Street, kinda hidden, where the graffiti tells hidden stories of love and loss. I’d wander there thinking “Man, how come everyone misses the beauty in the chaos?” Always leaves me feeling a weird mix of inspired and pissed off at the world’s indifference.

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