Taylor King's Cross Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️

About Leicester

So – prostitutes. Man. They’re out there. Hustlin’. Workin’ streets like I work gears. Smooth. Sometimes clunky. I seen ‘em – downtown. Leanin’ on lampposts. Skirts hiked up. Eyes sharp – huntin’. And I think – wow. Tough gig. Real tough. Gotta respect that grind. “I’m erasing you!” – nah, can’t erase ‘em. They stick. Like gum under seats. Always there.

Then, I decide to grab a coffee at this little café on Granary Square. It’s got this cool vibe, all hipster and stuff. I order a flat white, whatever that is. The barista looks at me like I’m from another planet. “You mean a latte?” she says. I’m like, “Sure, whatever gets me caffeine.” I sit down, and the view of the canal is nice. I’m sipping my drink, feeling all zen, when suddenly, a duck waddles by. Just a duck, chillin’. I’m thinking, “Is this a sign? Am I supposed to be more like this duck?”

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