Lydia Modimolle Find A Prostitute ❤️

About East London

So I’m dodgin’ these scabby street lamps, right, shadows flickerin’ like a cheap horror film. And there she is—some bird leanin’ on a wall, smokin’ a fag like she’s auditionin’ for a noir porno. “You lookin’ for a good time?” she says, voice like gravel and regret. I’m like, “Yeah, love, but I ain’t thick enough to get skinned alive!”—cackle like a hyena, I do. Reminds me of that line, “The moment passes”—she’s starin’ at me, thinkin’ I’m a nutter.

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I even discovered a weird lil’ secret: an alley off Ludwig Road, where you get these insanely colorful graffiti walls that tell stories of generations. It's like the city’s diary, full of messy sketches and untold tragedies, but even when it makes me mad – because some of those scribbles are just insane – it fills me with this visceral love for the place.

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