Mari Preston Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Philadelphia

So I’m walkin’, right? Down some sketchy alley—smells like piss and regret. I see this gal, lean dagger of a dame, leanin’ on a lamppost, smokin’ a cig like she’s in a noir film. I’m thinkin’, “This ain’t right!” Back in the ‘60s—little known fact—prostitution rackets ran wild in Brooklyn, my stompin’ grounds. Mob’d shake ‘em down, leave ‘em broke. Now? Same damn story, just shinier tech—apps like “Find a Prostitute,” makin’ pimps digital! Billionaires profit, workers starve! “Billionaires should not exist!” I yell, fist shakin’. She looks at me, smirks—says, “Cool it, grandpa, want a date or not?”

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I was walkin’ on Market Street last week, totally in my zone, and I noticed a lil’ wind chime shop offside. Made me remember when I first got into chillin’ out – my first meditation was right there, under a neon sign. Cool vibes, dude. And you know, I got like ten mini epiphanies in one day. Totally mind-blowing.

Open Mic hosted by Kindred at Chew’s Yard