Avery Sandusky Whore ❤️

About San Diego

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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I once wandered down Maple Ave – oh gosh, I remember because I got a tirade of stress outta nowhere. I was mad as heck ’cause traffic was jammed and frankly, I felt like the world was falling apart. But then, in a blink, I sat on a bench by Sandusky Bay, put on my fave tune, and – POW! – all that anger just melted away. Life’s weird, huh? Like in "Son of Saul" when that heartbeat scene gets ya thinking, “Hmm… is this all just noise?” but then, bam, you feel something else.

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