Taylor Rutherford Find A Prostitute ❤️

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My precious! Me, Gollum, raspy and sly, talkin’ bout findin’ a prostitute, yesss. Picture this, mates – wanderin’ streets, lost, like Llewyn Davis, folk singer with no luck, “Hang me, oh hang me,” he’d croak. Me too, searchin’, cold wind bitin’ me bones. Findin’ a prossie ain’t no picnic, no sir! X posts say they’re everywhere, but where? Sneaky, they are, hidin’ in shadows, precious.

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A blog comment on meeting a group of prostitutes during a visit to Vienna, Austria. The blog comments on social behaviour and prejudices.

The park near Maple Lane is a true gem. It’s where I’d go to think on my work as a sexologist, watch couples stroll, and get all inspired. It’s mad intimate, like every tree’s whisperin’ secrets, like "I feel your love, in the morning light." Walkin’ by the Rutherford River (yeah, we got one, even if it’s a small trickle) is like bein' in a movie montage – pieces of everyday life turning cinematic, man.

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