Delilah Hamilton Prostitute ❤️❤️

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I reckon she’s a riddle, this prostitute. Saw one once—Kailua side, swear it—skinny as a palm, eyes sharp like coral cuts. Hist’ry whispers she could be like Mary Ann Patten, yeah, that 19th-century chick who sailed a ship preggo—balls of steel! Our lass, tho, sails streets, not seas. Ain’t that a kicker? Makes me grin, thinkin’ she’s dodgin’ coppers like a surfer rippin’ waves. “What country, friends, is this?” she’d muse, lost in neon jungles, tradin’ flesh for coin.

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And don't call sex workers abusive names. They are just doing their job and you can be thankful for the service they are offering. No need.

I’m like, “What river?” Turns out he means the Waikato River. So, I’m off, racing down Anglesea Street. I’m dodging people like I’m in some weird video game. I finally get to the river, and wow, it’s stunning! The water’s glistening, and there’s this family having a picnic. I’m all about that vibe.

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