Madison Alice Find A Prostitute ❤️

About East London

Meets her downtown—holy shit, she’s fire! Dressed sharp, smirkin’ like she owns me already. “You’re early,” she says, cool as ice. I’m sweatin’, mutterin’, “I couldn’t sleep anyway”—total Bob Harris move. She laughs—fuck, that pissed me off! But also, damn, it’s hot. We vibe, talk cash—greed’s the glue, man. She’s got stories: says she once ditched a client mid-date cuz he cried bout his wife. Hilarious! I’m crackin’ up, thinkin’, “This is better than therapy!”

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This really could've been so much more. It could've had Alice who was abused by her drunk mom go down to Florida with her friend but then becomes a prostitute.

Alice streets? Oh, they're somethin'. Swing by Main/Elm, where the hustle never stops. Right there, you get that gritty feel, kinda like in Leviathan: "In the depths, every secret’s a whisper." I always think of that line when I walk through Foxy Lane—lit by neon signs and dreams at midnight.

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