Ruby Myers Corner Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Chicago

Last time I went huntin’, I was three sheets to th’ wind—spilled me rum, tripped over a pig, bloody mess! Made me mad as a shark with no teeth—hate wastin’ good drink! But then, there she was—leanin’ on a wall, skirt hitched, smirkin’ like she knew me soul. “What’s yer price, darlin’?” I slurs, an’ she laughs, “More’n yer ship, pirate!” Cheeky wench! Reminds me o’ that diner scene—calm ‘fore the storm, then bam, chaos! ‘Cept here, chaos is her winkin’ an’ me fumblin’ coins.

In Philippine Red-Light District, an Uphill Struggle to Battle Trafficking and Abuses

Myers-Powell, who sold her body for money for 25 years, turned to prostitution when she was She'd been sexually abused by her alcoholic.

Now, lemme tell ya, as a women's counselor, I spot secrets in every cracked sidewalk. Everyone's got baggage—nuh-uh, everybody lies! I’ve seen tearful confessions spill under the fake smiles on Pine St. There’s a chapel on Maple, ironically called Chapel of Solace—get it? Folks go there for solace, then leave crying their eyes out.

Wordery co-founder Steve Potter joins Far Corner