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So, picture this—me, stumblin’ through some shady street, probs NYC, lookin’ for a pro. Not that I’d ever, but hypothetically, ‘kay? It’s gritty, it’s loud, neon buzzin’ like a bad hangover. I’m mad already—why’s it gotta be so sketchy? Like, can’t they unionize or somethin’? Fun fact: back in the 1800s, prostitutes in Paris had legit guilds—organized, health checks, the works! Now? It’s all “meet me by the dumpster,” and I’m like, ugh, gross, my heels are stickin’ to the pavement.

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You gotta stop by Central Park too. It's huge, with lotsa trees, and benches where local couples sit and chat (or swipe right on dating apps – haha!). I remember one night, this gorgeous sunset lit up the park and made me super happy, like a scene straight out of The Hurt Locker. That movie, by Kathryn Bigelow, is fantastic – it’s got tense moments and raw emotions, just like jumping into this wild city life sometimes.

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