Addison Fallon Find A Prostitute ❤️

About New York City

I ask her rate—50 bucks, she says. Cheap, right? But I’m broke as a joke, so I haggle. “Don’t pee on my leg, girl, I ain’t no millionaire!” She smirks, drops it to 40. Deal. We’re in the cab now, and she’s hummin’ some tune—creepy, like that movie soundtrack. “Do you want to look at me?” she asks, all sultry. Hell yeah, I do! But it’s quick—15 minutes tops. Tractor seat’s squeakin’, I’m prayin’ no cop rolls by.

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Down in downtown Fallon, ya got Main Street—oh, the Main Street, so lively! Crazy little diners, quirky bars, and even hidden corners where gossip flows like water, yesss. Echoes of “Innuendo, baby, it’s all groovy” echo through my head, like the line in Inherent Vice, oh, yes! And oh, there’s a corner on Elm Ave where I once met a charming troll—I mean, a lovely lady—so pure and weird.

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