Chapter 19

• I’d made good money from being a gigolo. Great money. My penthouse was a gift from a former client, paid up front and in cash. But up until three months ago, I’d never made one good financial decision. I’d burned through money like it was fucking s’mores. Fast cars, designer clothes, and private charters. So when I abruptly retired after a client tried to cop a feel—no, not cop a feel: sexually assaulted me—my cash began dwindling at astonishing rates.
• This app was a Hail Mary prior to downsizing, selling the condo, and surrendering.
• "Admitted defeat" definition going back to selling my time, my body, my charm, my fucking life. I did not want to do that. But I could not help but not.