Paisley Palenstein Find A Prostitute ❤️

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Then—plot twist—she starts talkin’ bout her day, like we’re pals! Says some creep stiffed her last night, no tip, nothin’. I’m ragin’ for her, like, “Fuck that guy!” Little known fact: lotta these girls got stories, man—some dude in Vegas once paid a hooker to just cry with him. Weird, right? I’m over here, chaotic as fuck, screamin’ in my head, “This is art, this is life!” She’s smirkin’ at me, probs thinkin’ I’m nuts. I ask her name—says it’s “Candy,” and I’m like, “That’s fake as hell, I love it!” *Certified Copy* vibes again—“The copy’s as good as the original,” ya know?

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So, I’m munching on this thing, and suddenly, I hear this loud crash outside. I rush to the window, and there’s this dude on a bike, totally wiped out. Like, faceplant style. I’m laughing, but then I see he’s hurt. Ugh, bummer. I run out to help him, and he’s like, “I’m fine, I’m fine!” But he’s got a huge scrape on his knee. Classic Palenstein, right? Everyone’s tough until they’re not.

Obituary | HATTIE PIEHL