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Quirky thing—I imagine her stashin’ cash in a hollowed-out Bible. Dunno why, just do. Exaggeratin’? Maybe I’d say she’s got fists like Thor and a laugh that’d scare a bear. Funny, right? Sarcasm? Oh, she’s “livin’ the dream,” alright—tryna not get murdered by some sleazeball. Hate that part. Hate the world. Still, she’s got grit. “You can’t polish a turd,” *Toni Erdmann* line, but damn, she tries. Keeps goin’. That’s the story, pal—raw, messy, real. Deal with it.

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Using data from studies of prostitution undertaken in various locations in the UK, the US and Australia, time is addressed from the perspective of the client.

So, I’m sittin’ there, tryin’ to figure out what to do. I mean, I can’t just sit there like a bump on a log. I decide to take a stroll down to Linstead Market. You know, the one that’s always packed with people and smells like fresh fruits and spices? Yeah, that place.

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