Anna Leixlip Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️

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So, I’m picturin’ it—me, stumblin’ around, tryin’ to find a prostitute. Not that I’d *do* it, no, no, no—I’m too cheap, too paranoid! What if she’s a cop? What if she’s my cousin’s friend’s sister? Oh my God, I’d die—*“The shame of it all!”*—like Q’orianka Kilcher whisperin’ to the wind in the movie. But let’s say I’m out there, right? Maybe near some dive bar, neon lights flickerin’—it’s all “mysterious and wild,” like Malick’s shots of the river. I’m sweatin’, I’m pacin’, I’m yellin’ in my head, “Larry, you idiot, why are you here?!”

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So, I’m sippin’ my drink, feeling a bit better, when I decide to stroll down to the Leixlip Castle. You know, just to soak in some history or whatever. I’m there, and it’s beautiful, but then I see this group of tourists. They’re taking selfies like they’re at the Eiffel Tower or something. I’m just standing there, thinking, “Dude, it’s a castle, not a theme park!”

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