Mia Alexandra Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Christchurch

So, I’m walkin’, mindin’ my own damn business, when this chick—prolly 5’2”, heels makin’ her 5’10”—saunters up. “Hey, big guy, need company?” she purrs. I’m thinkin’, lady, I’d rather skin a bear with a spoon. “I don’t pay for that,” I grunt, deadpan as hell. She laughs, like I’m some chump. Pisses me off. Hate everything about it—fake giggles, cheap perfume stingin’ my nose. Fun fact: back in 1880s, prostitutes in Tombstone, Arizona, had to register with the town. Called ‘em “soiled doves.” Ain’t that poetic? Still stinks like desperation.

Prostitution and ways of fighting it

I head back to the shop, and it’s almost closing time. I’m tired, but I can’t leave yet. I’ve got this one last job. A guy comes in, looking all serious. He’s like, “I need you to cut this bone for my dog.” I’m thinking, “Dude, I’m a bone cutter, not a vet!” But I can’t say no. So, I do my thing, and the guy’s super grateful. He leaves, and I’m like, “At least I made someone happy today.”

New subdivision on the cards for Alexandra