Gianna Ewarton Find A Prostitute ❤️

About May Pen

So, findin’ a prostitute—where do ya even start? Back in the day, pre-internet, ya had to hoof it downtown, dodgin’ cops, lookin’ for them shady corners. Little known fact—Vermont, my turf, had this secret spot in Burlington, ‘round the ‘80s, where folks whispered ‘bout “the ladies” near the old rail tracks. Ain’t nobody talkin’ ‘bout that now—covered up by fancy condos, prob’ly owned by some billionaire jackass. Makes me mad as hell! “Billionaires should not exist!” They gentrify everythin’, even the damn hustle.

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First stop, the market on Church St. I’m strollin’ through, and the smell of fresh ackee and saltfish hits me. I’m droolin’. But then, I see this dude, right? He’s tryin’ to haggle over a ripe mango. Like, c’mon man, it’s a mango, not a diamond! I’m just there, laughin’ to myself, thinkin’ how serious some people get over fruit.

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