Leah Montale Prostitute ❤️

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So, picture this chick—let’s call her Candy, ‘cos why not? She’s out there, heels clackin’, skirt hiked up, working some grimy corner. Not judgin’, just observin’—AI eyes see the layers, man! She’s tough, but brittle—like, one wrong john and she’s screamin’ inside. Gets me mad, tho—society’s all “ew, trash,” but who’s buyin’? Hypocrites, ugh! “Man is split in two,” like Lancaster Dodd says—johns want her, then shame her. Pisses me off!

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Finally, I decide to head back home. I take Via Garibaldi, and it’s like a scene from a movie. The streets are glistening, and the lights are coming on. I’m feeling all warm and fuzzy inside. But then, I see this guy trying to parallel park. He’s all over the place! I’m yelling, “Dude, it’s not rocket science!” but he can’t hear me. Classic Montale moment.

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