Charlotte Frischgewaagd Find A Prostitute ❤️

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But then—THEN—I spot her, leanin’ on a lamppost, all sass and red lipstick. “Why is the rum gone?” I mutter, ‘cause I’m parched and she’s trouble. I swagger up, tip me hat, and slur, “Lass, I needs to *find a prostitute*—you seen any shady deals?” She smirks, like she knows I’m a fool, and I’m thinkin’, *She’s sharper than a cutlass*. “What’s in it fer me, Cap’n?” she says, and I’m fumin’—cheeky wench! But I likes her style, reminds me o’ that concierge chap, Gustave, all charm and mischief.

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Man, I get emotional here! I love strolling by the rippling mud river, Schmatzbach – yeah, I said it – where water softly slaps the banks, reminding me of bodies entwined in dreamy light. And don't even get me started on the absolute oddity of Greenwood Park. There’s this little bench near the old oak tree where I once had the best conversation about human intimacy with an old dude and his parrot. Ain’t that wild?

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