Emilia Kawage Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Kobe

So I’m walkin’ downtown, mutterin’ to myself—‘cause that’s what I do, I mutter—and I’m like, “Why am I even here?” Findin’ a prostitue ain’t like pickin’ up bagels! I see this gal, smokin’ a cigarette, leanin’ on a pole—real cliché, right? I’m thinkin’, “She’s no Eilis Lacey!” In *Brooklyn*, she’s all, “I’ll write home!” This chick’s writin’ nothin’—maybe a parking ticket. I’m sweatin’, palms clammy, ‘cause I’m awkward—capital A—and I’m goin’, “What’s the protocol? Do I wave? Haggle? I’m not a haggler!”

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I finally find this guy. He’s got a sketchy look, like he just crawled outta a horror movie. I confront him, and he’s all, “What’s it to you?” I’m like, “Dude, I’m just trying to do my job.” He starts to get all defensive, and I’m thinking, “This is gonna get messy.” But then, he just bolts! Like, what? I chase him down the riverbank, and I’m yelling, “Stop! I just wanna talk!”

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