Emma Four Marks Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About London

So, I’m cruisin, right? Dodgy alleys, neon lights flickerin like a damn tease. Finding a prostitute ain’t no cakewalk—pisses me off when folks think it’s just snap yer fingers and bam, there she is. Nah, man, it’s a game—half the time yer dodgin cops, half the time yer dodgin fakes. Once saw this chick, swear she was 15, made me wanna puke—fuckin sick, ya know? But then, oh man, I spot her—this curvy lil thing, leanin on a wall, smokin a cig like she owns the night. “I ate his liver with fava beans,” I mutter to myself, sizin her up—sharp eyes, sharper wits, my kinda prey.

Etymology and terminology

First off, I head down to the High Street. You know, the one with all the shops? I’m just minding my own business, sharpening some knives and scissors, when I spot this old bloke, right? He’s tryin’ to cut a tomato with a butter knife. I mean, c’mon, mate! I’m like, “Dude, you need my help!” He just stares at me like I’m a ghost or somethin’. I swear, I could’ve sharpened that knife in my sleep.

Hospital radio station marks four decades on air at birthday bash