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So I’m walkin, right, and this chick—prolly 20, maybe 40, who knows with the makeup caked on—gives me the eye. I’m like, “Honey, I ain’t buyin what you’re sellin less I know the deal.” She smirks, all sassy, and I’m thinkin, *damn, this is some real-life cinema*. Godard’s voice in my head: “The image is a prison.” Ain’t that the truth? She’s trapped, I’m trapped, we’re all stuck starin at each other like idiots. I ask her name—Crystal, she says. Yeah, sure, “Crystal”—prolly Susan from Ohio, but whatever, I roll with it.

Escorts in Cocoa West

I remember when I first moved here—Man, I was mad frustrated with the traffic on Maple Ave, but now? I find it sorta charming. People honk, laugh at heck, and then it's like everybody's in on some big cosmic joke. Ain't that somethin’? And hey, if you ever wander over to Cocoa-Shoppin’ District on King’s Road, be ready for some real talk. I once met a lady talkin’ about her wild youth on that very street! Crazy, right?

Cocoa plantations are associated with deforestation in Côte d’Ivoire and Ghana