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About Wellington

So, how’s it work? You cruise, you spot ‘em—heels high, skirt short, eyes sharp. Or ya text some shady number from a burner phone. “No calls after midnight,” one told me—pissed me off again. I’m like, “What, you got a curfew?” Sarcasm’s my shield, man. But when it clicks? Oh, it’s gold. Hooked up once, chick was a riot—laughed at my tie, called it “grandpa style.” I was dyin’—humor in the hustle, who knew?

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And then, outta nowhere, this guy spills his drink all over me. I’m like, “Seriously, dude?!” I’m soaked, and my mood takes a nosedive. But then, the band plays my jam. I can’t help but dance. I’m flailing around, and suddenly, I’m not mad anymore. I’m just living in the moment.

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