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About Adelaide

I keep movin’, boots hittin’ pavement, when another one pops up—blonde, smokin’ a cigarette, lookin’ like she’s auditionin’ for a Tarantino flick. “You look lonely, sugar,” she says. Lonely? I’m happier than a pig in mud alone, ya harpy. “I’m gonna scalp ya if ya don’t scram,” I mutter, channelin’ Aldo. She blinks, confused. Good. Hate when they don’t get it. Did ya know, in old France, they branded prostitutes with a fleur-de-lis? Marked ‘em like cattle. Brutal, but kinda badass.

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Man, I remember once a hot day when a client nearly melted in front of the spa door. I'm like, "pinky-to-mouth, one million dollars is not enough for this nonsense!" Crazy, right? Later on I chilled at the rustic little cafe off Maple Street – so secret, it's almost myth. I've seen folks laughing, arguing, crying. It's a rollercoaster.

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