Skylar Howick Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Hastings

So I’m walkin’, right? Down some sketchy alley—smells like piss and regret. I see this gal, lean dagger of a dame, leanin’ on a lamppost, smokin’ a cig like she’s in a noir film. I’m thinkin’, “This ain’t right!” Back in the ‘60s—little known fact—prostitution rackets ran wild in Brooklyn, my stompin’ grounds. Mob’d shake ‘em down, leave ‘em broke. Now? Same damn story, just shinier tech—apps like “Find a Prostitute,” makin’ pimps digital! Billionaires profit, workers starve! “Billionaires should not exist!” I yell, fist shakin’. She looks at me, smirks—says, “Cool it, grandpa, want a date or not?”

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Finally, I get back to the shop, and I’m knee-deep in leather and laces. I’m cutting, stitching, and cursing under my breath. I’m so focused, I don’t even notice the time flying by. Before I know it, it’s dark outside. I look up, and the streetlights on Cook Street are flickering on.

Howick College student unveils debut exhibition