Gabriella Horning Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️

About Aalborg

What suprised me? How chill she was—like, she’s seen it all, probs met worse than me. I’m thinkin, “Christ, I’m 007, but she’s the real boss here.” Bit of a turn-on, not gonna lie—exaggeratin for effect, she’s basically M with better legs. I ask her name—somethin fake, probs Candy—laughin, I go, “That’s a gorgeous neck, darlin,” stealin Hans Landa’s creepy charm. She smirks—game on.

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

She prefaces this lifestyle choice with a painful horn an possibly will never address that PTSD in how she became a prostitute. Glamorizing.

I remember one absurdly brilliant day – oh blimey, it’s all a jumble of passion and befuddlement – I was counseling a lovely, strong soul near the bustling Market Square, Amager Plads (okay, small liberty taken, it’s not Amager Plads, but it feels like it! Lol). I could see life’s little ironies glowing in the smudged reflections of the shop windows; it reminded me of that luscious, slow-motion scene in "In the Mood for Love" where every look matters. It’s all very dramatic, very “Carpe diem!” and oh-so bittersweet.

An open letter to Chuck Horning