“So like.. you a prostitute?”

̊+‧꒰ა ♱ ໒꒱ ‧+ ̊

Just got kicked out of your home, because your mom wants to apparently stop being your mom, cause like thats an option.

your dad who you haven't talked to in years offered you a small shitty apartment in Vegas, you were broke, spent your last money on weed, debated becoming a stripper.

And here you sit at a small gas station, in the sweltering heat, shoving your face with a little pack of out of date powdered donuts and smoking a cigarette. When a boy pulls up, in this ‘92 Camaro, sees you, comes up.

And asks if you were a fucking prostitute.

listen i don’t know where all my enthusiasm for writing came from but i’m cooking up a feast right now. I’m supposed to be doing my cosmetology work but I'm doing this instead.