Nora Bennington Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️

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Findin’ a prostitute ain’t rocket science, but it’s a freakin’ art. You don’t just stroll up, nah, it’s a dance—eye contact, nods, cash flashin’. I’d be pissed, tho—half these girls lie worse than my patients. “Oh, I’m clean,” they say. Sure, and I’m a ballerina. Everybody lies, right? Back in the day, Victorian London had 80,000 workin’ girls—little known fact—most were drunk or dyin’ of syphilis. Now? Same game, diff tech. They’re on apps, X posts, lurkin’ in DMs. Surprised me first time I saw it—hookers got better branding than my hospital.

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Thomas Lyons pleads guilty Monday in Bennington Superior Court, Criminal Division, to four misdemeanor counts of soliciting prostitutes.

Man, I gotta tell ya, oddly enough, “Requiem for a Dream” runs through my mind. The struggle, the longing—I feel it every day. It’s like, when you near the old theatre on Elm, you sense the madness, the beauty, the darkness. Feels wild, like “here’s Johnny!” in the middle of calm. Crazy, right?

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