Olivia Corozal Whore ❤️

About Ponce

Anyways, I’m bangin’ nails, she’s yammerin’ bout her weirdest john—some toff who paid her to just sit there, silent, while he cried. “Like I’m his bloody shrink!” she cackles. Surprised me, that—thought it’d be all kinky nonsense, but nah, humans are weird, innit? Straight out of *A.I.*, “The flesh fairs, the human need!”—cravin’ somethin’ real, even from a prossie.

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Man, what a day! Seriously, I’m still trying to wrap my head around it. So, I wake up in Corozal, right? The sun’s blazin’ like it’s tryin’ to fry an egg on the sidewalk. I’m like, “Great, another scorcher.” I grab my coffee from that little spot on Calle San Juan. You know the one? The barista there is always crackin’ jokes. I swear, I could listen to him all day.

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