Evelyn Rotherhithe Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Birmingham

Monotone narration, “Tonight’s the night.” I ask her price, she says 50 bucks. Fifty! For a quickie? Inflation’s a bitch, man. Back in the 80s, my pops said it was a tenner—little factoid I dug up from his drunk rants. She’s got this scar on her cheek, tiny, shaped like a crescent moon. “Got it from a john,” she says, shruggin. I’m pissed—some asshole cut her? But also, damn, she’s tough. Kinda hot.

Interested in local history?

www.facebook.com will allow you to view the massage parlors in your area. Most actual websites for ordering one up have been taken down lately. That’s your best bet. Willing to bet if you fire up Missing: Rotherhithe.

I spend my days massaging away stressed souls. Being around bodies and secrets, lemme tell ya, Rotherhithe’s secrets are deep. I’ve seen folks relax near the riverside walk near the Brunel Engine House. Real life drama, no script. One day, I was in the back alley near Wisemans, thinking of "I'm just a guy, a guy who's in love with you"—yeah, Eddie, you know the flick, right? —and suddenly the Thames whispers stories of dockers and dreamers.

Concerns grow that motorists could be charged to use the Rotherhithe Tunnel