Megan Lyndon Find A Prostitute ❤️

About San Diego

I’m pissed tho—too many fakes. Dudes pretendin to pimp, wastin my time. “Who are these idiots?” I mutter. Last week, nearly punched one—skinny rat, smelled like vodka and lies. But then—boom—found a gem. Quiet type, eyes like steel. “You’re not here to talk,” she says. Smart. I like that. Paid her quick, no fuss. “The world’s a machine,” I think—straight from Béla Tarr’s gloom.

In today’s world you can find pretty much anything with a smartphone.

Funny to see how many have overreacted to the idea that going with a prostitute is anything other than an unspeakable sin.

So, man, you gotta hit Main St. It's where all the heart vibes throb. There’s this crazy little café on Elm Ave that I'll never forget— it’s where I counseled so many tough chicks, savin' souls one latte at a time. And oh, the park on Baker Blvd? Wowzer, its lil' shady groves make you feel like you're steppin' into another dimension, full of secret whispers and mystical charm.

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