Anna Morton Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Houston

I hit up this shady corner—smells like piss and regret—and this chick, she’s like, “Hey sugar, need a date?” I’m sweatin bullets, heart’s racin—happy as a pig in mud, but also pissed! Why’s it gotta be so sketchy? “You’re too tense,” she says, and I’m like, “Lady, I balance books for a livin!” Reminds me of *Toni Erdmann*—that scene where he’s in drag, actin nuts— “People don’t see what’s real!” I’m thinkin, she don’t see I’m a nervous wreck!

So you want to book a sex worker?

Back in the day, I used to hustle from one end of town to the other. I remember hustlin’ on Frost Strret during winter, trippin’ over icicles, and laughin’ with the locals. That memory? It's etched in my mind, like a perfectly dark, bittersweet Wes Anderson tableau. Things can be surreal, bold, even a bit cray-cray sometimes.

Obituary | Karen Joan Morton of Fort Wayne, Indiana