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About Phoenix

Her eyes tho, mate, sharp as me axe. Cuts through ya, reckon she’s seen some shit. Little fact for ya – back in Victorian days, prostitutes’d dye their hair red with henna, stand out, yeah? Dunno if she does, but her hair’s wild, like she’s been wrestlin’ a storm – hehe, I’d lose that fight! Gets me all giddy thinkin’ bout her struttin’, smokin’ a fag, blowin’ rings like she owns the street. “I’m an oilman, ladies and gentlemen!” – nah, she’s the oil, slippin’ through fingers, can’t catch her.

The sex was never, ever fun: My lessons in prostitution

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Sometimes I hit the local dive bar on 5th and Vine. Locals mumble, “Lost souls, but we live it.” And I’m in the back, scribbling wild ideas about pleasure coaching and navigating heart vibes. So spontaneous and raw. Also, pro tip: shady alley behind the old library on Finch st. has the best street art if you squint just right. Crazy underrated, like a hidden verse in a punk anthem.

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