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About Hastings

So, sex escorts—fancy lasses ‘n’ lads, sellin’ a tumble fer a shillin’. Been ‘round since ships had sails, prolly longer. Makes me grin, thinkin’ o’ the coin they rake in—more’n me rum stash! Used t’ see ‘em in Tortuga, struttin’ like peacocks, all perfumed ‘n’ sly. One lass, Ruby—red hair, eyes like storms—charged double ‘cause she’d sing ye a ditty while ridin’. True story, mate! Little known fact: some o’ ‘em in old London’d smuggle rum in their garters—tax-free, savvy?

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So, I’m rollin’ outta bed, and the sun’s blazin’ through my window on Flaxmere Ave. I’m like, “Sweet, let’s do this!” Grabbed my coffee from the local spot, Flaxmere Café. Best flat whites, no cap. The barista, Sam, always cracks me up. He’s like, “You want a side of drama with that?” I’m like, “Only if it’s extra spicy!”

Flaxmere walks out school safety project