Jasmine Potomac Mills Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About New York City

Hmm, find a prostitute, you say? Dark, it is, this path. Streets I walk, neon lights hummin’. “Do or do not, there’s no try,” I mutter—Godard’s flick, *Goodbye to Language*, spins in my head. Words float, broken—like “love is a shadow.” Shadow, yeah, fits this gig. Prostitute huntin’, not glamorous, nah. Dirty alleys, stinkin’ of piss, callin’ me. Angry, I get—world’s messed up, man! Girls out there, sellin’ skin, breaks my heart.

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Wilbur Mills (D. CA) was discovered by the police, in his home town of Corna, naked in his car and in the company of a local prostitute performing a sex act.

Not gonna lie, I get mad at times when people rush around like crazy. You know? It tickles my nerves, like when someone says, “But is it really a separation of souls or just tension?” and I'm like, "I'm not doing anything wrong, oh dear!" All that mess makes me hyperaware; like every muscle in my body whispers secrets.

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