Olivia Willows Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About San Jose

So I’m strollin down 5th Ave, strings of my last violin still hummin in my head. The city stinks—piss, hot dogs, desperation. Perfect vibe to find a prostitue. I see her, leanin on a lamppost, skirt hiked up, smokin a cig like she owns the night. “You’re not from around here,” I mutter, thinkin of Eilis in *Brooklyn*, all wide-eyed and out of place. She smirks, “Wanna bet, strings?” Strings! Ha! She clocked me—violin guy. Made me grin, rare for me.

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It is a moderate-sized willow growing to about 18 feet. Native to coastal areas. Larger, leathery leaves make it easier to distinguish from other willows.

Okay, so downtown is like, THE place. You got Main Street, which is edgy af. There's this super cool cafe on 3rd Ave. called Royal Roast. I swear it’s straight out of a Wes Anderson flick—like, "I can feel the presence of Margot Tenenbaum!" It’s, like, magical.

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