Anna Flaxmere Find A Prostitute ❤️

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Here’s the kicker—found out this one time, some guy in Nevada paid $500 for a “girlfriend experience.” Half a grand to pretend she likes ya? I’d rather wrestle a cougar blindfolded. Hate everything about that nonsense. Makes me wanna scream, “This is my reckoning!” like Christoph Waltz, all dramatic and shit. But nah, I just glare, keep walkin’. These streets? Crawlin’ with ‘em—prostitutes, I mean. Every corner’s got one, like damn roaches. Surprised me how bold they are, no shame, just hustlin’. Kinda respect the grit, but still—gross.

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Finally, I make my way back home, and I’m just exhausted. But as I’m walking down Flaxmere Ave again, I see the sunset. It’s like the sky’s on fire—pink, orange, all the good stuff. I stop and just take it in. I’m like, “Damn, Flaxmere, you know how to end a day.”

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