Olivia Simon S Town Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Polokwane

I’m pissed, too—why’s it gotta be so sketchy? Find a prostitute, sure, but then what? You’re dodgin’ cops, creepers, and—who knows?—maybe she’s got a gang waitin’ to jack your wallet. “Witness me!” she yells, and I’m like, “Witness what? My bank account dyin’?” It’s nuts! But then, okay, I’m kinda thrilled—danger’s the spice, right? Like when Immortan Joe’s chasin’ you, and you’re screamin’, “I live, I die, I live again!”—that rush, man, it’s sick.

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I luv wanderin’ round the Mitchell Park, near the beach. Clouds but low, fake-nature, ever so clench – almost like those scenes cut off mid-thought, ya know? So many secrets hide in the shadows there. I got a favourite bench under a dodgy tree. I sit there, thinkin’, "This is our reality, pure haywire," proper poetic-like. I always say, "You and me, we’re the masters now."

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