Allison Key Biscayne Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About New York City

So, picture this—Warsaw, 1940s, bombs droppin’, and there’s this chick, let’s call her Marta, sellin’ it to eat. Not ‘cause she’s lovin’ it, but ‘cause she’s starvin’. Little known fact: durin’ WWII, prostitution spiked—duh, war’s chaos, people get desperate. Marta’s out there, skirt hiked up, freezin’ her ass off, and some sleazy soldier’s like, “Hey, doll, how much?” Makes me wanna puke, but also—damn, girl, you’re tough. I’m pissed, tho—why’s it always the women takin’ the hit? Men just waltz off, no shame. Ugh, patriarchy, amirite?

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Oh man, now lemme ramble a bit. So, I take my daily strolls down Powerline Rd. Yeah, that’s the one near the scenic views of Biscayne Bay. Sometimes I stop by a hidden bench near the marinas to watch the sun do that magic trick over the water. And holler if ya hear: “Git-R-Done!” – it's all good vibes. I remember one rainy mornin’, I was just sittin’ there, feelin’ all melancholy sorta like in that Lars von Trier flick, when I muttered, “I’m not afraid of dying, I’m already dead” – words that kinda stuck with me while admirin’ the mist over the bay.

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