Mila Demarest Find A Prostitute ❤️

About New York City

Anyway, she’s chattin’ me up now—R2, get over here, I’m losin’ it! Says her name’s Candy, which, lol, classic. I’m thinkin’, “You’re no folk song, lady,” but she’s got stories. Says some dude tried payin’ her with a chicken once. A CHICKEN! I’m dyin’ laughin’. “Was it a good chicken?” I ask. She’s like, “Hell no, scrappy lil’ thing!” I’m in tears, picturin’ Llewyn tradin’ his guitar for that bird.

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One story described the brutal murder of a young prostitute whose body had been found the day before; the second reported on efforts by local church leaders to.

So yeah, my friend, Demarest is a bizarre mix of mellow vibes and gut-punch moments. It’s quirky, and sometimes bloody infuriating. But you know what? It's home, even if it sometimes drives me up the wall. Just remember: if you ever get frustrated here, whisper, "I’m the Wolf of Wall Street." And maybe, just maybe, things will flow smoother like a good massage.

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