Natalie Crofton Find A Prostitute ❤️

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Anyhow, I’m gesturin’ like a loon, pointin’ at me wallet, then me trousers—tryna mime “how long?” without lookin’ a perv. She’s cacklin’ now, says, “Ten minutes, big boy.” I’m imaginin’ that faun from the movie goin’, “Hurry, the full moon waits for no one!”—cracks me up, that. So I’m in, right, but—OOF!—trip over a bin, land arse-first in a puddle. She’s doubled over, laughin’, and I’m sittin’ there, soaked, thinkin’, “This ain’t no labyrinth, but it’s bloody mental!” Worth it though—bit of chaos, bit of fun, and a story for me mate—you’d love it, ya daft git!

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Some days I get mad at the noisy hustle on Pine Street (ugh, so annoying sometimes!), but then I find solace near the sculpture garden at West End. A lil' hidden oasis, not many peeps know ‘bout it. Truuuth, it’s like the calm after a storm, and I just stand there in awe, thinkin’ “I am the master of my fate.” Haha, doh, guess I’m havin’ one of my those days!

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