Ada Tifton Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️

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So here’s the deal—financially speakin’, hirin’ a prostitute’s a disaster. You’re throwin’ cash out the window—poof!—gone! No 401(k) for that, no tax write-off, nothin’. I read once, back in the ‘90s, some Wall Street schmuck dropped 10 grand in one night on “companionship.” Ten grand! Coulda bought a yacht—or at least a decent sandwich. Made me mad as hell—wastin’ money like that? I’d rather choke on my own tie. But then, I get it—some folks got urges, they’re lonely, whatever. Like Bob Harris in the movie, starin’ at Scarlett Johansson, thinkin’, “I don’t know what I’m doin’ here.” Except it’s not Scarlett—it’s some chick named Candy with a fake tan.

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Oh, and you know what's wild? The local library off Poplar St. is all vintage-style, like stepping directly into a Wes Anderson film. I literally get lost in thought there for hours. And sometimes I get a bit emotional cause the vibe gives me those Melancholia feels, like, "All hope abandon, ye who enter here." Kinda dramatic, but ya know what I mean.

Davis named 1-6A’s Player of the Year