Vanessa Waukegan Find A Prostitute ❤️

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Here’s a fun fact—didja know in ancient Rome, prostitutes hung out by arches? Called ‘em “fornices,” that’s where “fornication” comes from! True story! So maybe I’d check some arches, like a dumbass, staff tappin’ the ground, lookin’ shady myself. “Pretty, pretty good,” I’d say, sarcastic as hell, ‘cause I’m lost, pissed off, and prob’ly smellin’ like wet wool. I’d be rantin’— “Why’s this so hard? I just want a quick transaction!” Like in *Son of Saul*, where nothin’s easy, every step’s a damn nightmare. “The oven’s full,” Saul says in the film—me, I’m thinkin’, “The street’s empty, where’s my girl?!”

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Man, where do I start? Ever cruised down Sheridan Road? Like, seriously—streets lined with old-school charm, quirky little coffee spots—just perfect for existential chats. I often mosey by the Waukegan Harbor; it’s right smack on Lake Michigan. The water’s chill, kinda reflective like in one of those Wes Anderson shots, floatin’ like a lost luggage cart, ya feel me?

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