Paisley Slonim Prostitute ❤️

About Brest

Quirk o’ mine—I’d imagine em in space, floatin free. No johns, no rules, just cosmic peace. Prostitues deserve that, man. Little known bit—some old prossies ran secret spy rings, WWII shit! Badass, right? Makes ya think—heroes in fishnets. So yeah, they’re messy, raw, real—like *Brokeback*. “Truth is, sometimes I miss you so much,” I’d mutter, thinkin of Lucy. She’d grin, “Miss me? Pay double then!”

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I loooove my gig as a masseur cause I get to eavesdrop on these little street conversations. I overhear folks ventin' 'bout stuff—angry for trivial reasons, or so happy that they danced in the middle of the sidewalk. Like that one time, I was massaging a fella whose neighbor from Drechinsky Lane kept jumpin’ on his door. WHAT A NIGHT! I told him, “One million dollars, pal!” and we cracked up, lol.

A Life on the Red Carpet: Remembering Jeffrey Slonim