Freya St. Louis Find A Prostitute ❤️

About San Antonio

Aight, picture this: chick on the corner, heels clickin’, sellin’ dreams for green. She’s a ghost, fam, a shadow dancin’ in neon. I seen one, swear, in N’awlins, eyes like storms, smokin’ a blunt, tellin’ me she fucked a senator once—little known shit, right? Blew my mind, I was like, “Damn, girl, you a legend!” Made me happy, real talk, ‘cause she owned it, no shame. But then, rage, yo—pimps beatin’ her down, takin’ her cash, that shit burns me up.

I drink, I know things, like old Tyrion would say. Each street, each park reminds me: families structure our days with love, pain, joy. Typing now, reflection hits: “Our lives are but a medley of stories.” Reminds me of that movie—so freakin’ poignant. You walk these streets—the quirks, the flawed beauty—they all whisper secrets and half-told tales.

Martin St-Louis named a finalist for the Jack Adams Award | Montréal Canadiens