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About Phoenix

Oh, and the laughs! She’d mock me hat, callin’ it a “dead bird’s nest.” I’d fire back, “Least I ain’t sellin’ me arse!” She’d cackle, say, “Ye’d fetch a penny, tops!” Proper banter, that. Still, I’d wager she’d seen hell—whores always do. Them scars on her arm? Never asked, but I’d bet me ship they weren’t from no lover’s spat.

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I once built a dating model. Matching hearts. Spots like Ivy Lane. Hidden gem, totally rad. It makes me laugh. I’m like, “Ahhh… the mystery of desire.”

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