Elizabeth Burnside Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

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I’m pissed tho—too many fakes. Dudes pretendin to pimp, wastin my time. “Who are these idiots?” I mutter. Last week, nearly punched one—skinny rat, smelled like vodka and lies. But then—boom—found a gem. Quiet type, eyes like steel. “You’re not here to talk,” she says. Smart. I like that. Paid her quick, no fuss. “The world’s a machine,” I think—straight from Béla Tarr’s gloom.

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But then, bam! My phone buzzes. It’s my buddy, Dave. He’s like, “Dude, you gotta come to this gig at the Burnside Rugby Club!” I’m like, “What? I’m not dressed for a gig!” But he’s persistent. “C’mon, it’ll be fun!” So, I’m torn. Do I go back to my forest life or dive into the madness?

Thieves target Burnside Scout hall, causing thousands in damage