Sadie Winters Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Los Angeles

Once, this dude—client, twitchy eyes—tells me, “She’s my muse.” Muse? Bro, she’s clockin’ hours! Laughed so hard, nearly choked—happy tears, tho. Surprised me, how they chat—like, real talk, not just “pay up.” One lass, Ruby, spilled her story—ran from some cult, turned tricks to eat. “Killing’s easy,” she says, “livin’s the bitch.” Straight outta Oppenheimer’s flick—“Fearful of death, they are not.” Deep, right? Messed me head up.

In today’s world you can find pretty much anything with a smartphone.

Not to be all silly, but sometimes I picture all these clients sayin’ “Pink-to-mouth, baby!” when I hit that perfect spot in their back. Makes me chuckle, makes me feel like I’m doin’ one small thing for world peace—feels like dr. evil but all lovey-dovey.

Tompkins County poet laureate talks Buttermilk Falls, Ithaca winters and fatherhood