Ivy Treasure Island Find A Prostitute ❤️

About San Diego

We haggle—$50, $60, whatever—she’s actin’ like she’s doin’ me a favor. Fun fact: in Amsterdam, they got unions for this shit. Here? It’s a free-for-all, and I’m dodgin’ cops like I dodge clinic duty. She’s all, “No kissing,” and I’m like, “Fine, I’m not Ritchie anyway.” *Tenenbaums* ref, duh—nobody gets it. Makes me happy, tho, ‘cause I’m a smug prick. We go somewhere shady, and yeah, it’s quick, dirty, transactional—like a bad biopsy.

The ads you see for “girls to your room”

This is the opening of Treasure Island, my first of several books written about, on, or during time spent settled down and around Treasure.

The neighborhoods are a labyrinth. Eastside’s rough—bustling, gritty. West End’s classier—sleek cafes with overpriced lattes. And on misty nights by the Harbor Bridge, every damn soul seems lost in thought. I crack jokes about it daily with my massage pals. Come on, it's not rocket science, right?

All Bay Bridge lanes open after CHP detain person who was on bridge