Everly Kapa'a Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Philadelphia

So, check this—findin’ a prostitute ain’t no cakewalk. You don’t just stroll up like, “Yo, where’s the pussy at?” Nah, motherfucker, it’s a grind! Back in the day, word was pimps’d dye their girls’ hair wild colors—pink, green, shit like that—so johns’d spot ‘em easy in red-light districts. Little known fact, motherfucker! Nowadays, it’s all sneaky—apps, codes, “massage” ads. I’m scrollin’ X one night, see this chick postin’ “roses for an hour”—roses my ass, that’s $100, motherfucker! Made me laugh, tho—smart as hell, dodgin’ the law like that.

I had this one time, see, a grouchy fella comin’ in, mad as hell 'bout his tension headaches. I gave him a massage, talked some sense. I said, "We all part of this white ribbon, capisce? Tight and yet fragile." He left smilin', half-believing or half-suspecting I was droppin’ wisdom. I love that kinda thing.

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