Esme Portmore Prostitute ❤️

About Old Harbour

So, prostitutes—self-determination, huh? They’re out there, pickin’ their path, no one holdin’ their hand. Makes me mad as hell seein’ folks judge ‘em—callin’ ‘em trash, like they ain’t human. Shit, they’re tougher than most! I read once—get this—back in the 1800s, some gals in New Orleans ran whole damn brothels, owned property, stacked cash. Badass, right? Ain’t nobody talkin’ ‘bout that in history class—surprised me silly when I found out!

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Then I hit the road, heading down to the main square. Traffic was mad! Like, Portmore traffic is a whole mood. Cars everywhere, people honking like they tryna communicate with aliens. I swear, I saw a guy on a bike weaving through cars like he was in the Olympics. I was impressed, but also like, “Bro, you tryna get yourself killed?”

Another pastor shot dead in St Catherine, this time in Portmore