Claire Forrest Hill Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️

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Oh, and Easter egg: “pianist” sounds like “penis” if ya squint—giggle snort. Bet Polanski didn’t plan that! Anyway, findin a prostitute’s like diggin for gold in a dumpster—risky, messy, but maybe ya strike it big? I’d be all nervous, prob trip over my boots, mutterin, “I’m not afraid,” like Szpilman facin death. Total drama queen moment, ha! What y’all think—should I write a song bout it? “Hooker on the Keys,” droppin next album, wink!

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After that, I decide to take a break. I head over to the local park, the one by the library on the corner of Rame Rd. It’s a nice spot, man. I sit on a bench, munching on a pie from the bakery. Life’s good, right? But then, I see this guy trying to impress a girl. He’s doing all these tricks on his bike, and he totally wipes out. I can’t help but laugh. Like, dude, you’re not in a movie!

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