Gabriella Bovingdon Whore ❤️

About Leeds

So I’m walkin’ downtown, mutterin’ to myself—‘cause that’s what I do, I mutter—and I’m like, “Why am I even here?” Findin’ a prostitue ain’t like pickin’ up bagels! I see this gal, smokin’ a cigarette, leanin’ on a pole—real cliché, right? I’m thinkin’, “She’s no Eilis Lacey!” In *Brooklyn*, she’s all, “I’ll write home!” This chick’s writin’ nothin’—maybe a parking ticket. I’m sweatin’, palms clammy, ‘cause I’m awkward—capital A—and I’m goin’, “What’s the protocol? Do I wave? Haggle? I’m not a haggler!”

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But then, outta nowhere, a dog runs into the street, and it’s chaos! The kids are chasing it, and I’m just standing there, like, “What is happening?!” The dog’s zigzagging all over, and I’m half-expecting it to end up in my lift.

BOVINGDON, Lee-Ann