Sarah Westmead Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Sydney

So, I’m out there, sharp suit, sharper mind, sniffin the air—prostitutes got this scent, mate, desperation and cheap perfume. Reminds me of dissectin folks—figuratively, ‘course. Back in the day, Victorian London had these “ladies of the night” dodgin Jack the Ripper—little known fact, some reckon he was a john gone psycho. Makes ya wonder who’s huntin who, eh? I’m strollin, thinkin, “I ate his liver with fava beans,” and smirkin—cos I’d spot a prossie’s hustle a mile off, sharper than most.

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Now lemme drop my personal fav spots: There's this little park near Bloor St, where I like to do some meditative stretching after a long day givin’ them soulful massages. It’s quiet, almost zen, like nature whispering, "The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step." You know the drill, fo’ shizzle. And oh snap, there’s a funky river flowin’ somewhere around the outskirts. I swear sometimes, the water’s like a dancer from that movie – smooth, mysterious, and full of ju ju.

A night of hope: Bloody Cells Ball returns to support Westmead Hospital