Brooklyn Wellington Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

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Lemme paint it—me, rollin’ slow, smokin’ a blunt, peepin’ corners. This one chick, tight dress, heels clickin’, I’m like, “She the one?” Pull up, she’s all, “What you need, baby?” I’m thinkin’, *damn, this like the movie*—“You’re late, where were you?”—‘cept I ain’t mad, just high. She hops in, smellin’ like cheap perfume and hustle. Little known fact, tho—some pros in the ‘70s? They’d stash cash in they hair, big ol’ weaves, cops never checked. Smart as shit, right?

Diary of an escort: Life in one of the capital’s most exclusive brothels

But then, the clouds rolled in. Typical Wellington, right? One minute it’s sunny, the next it’s pouring. I dashed for cover under a bus stop. I was soaked, but I couldn’t stop laughing. I thought, “This is the life of a writer!”

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