Jasmine Andover Whore ❤️

About Manchester

So, this one time, ‘bout five years back, I’m runnin’ the elevator, doors slide open, and in steps this gal—red heels, lipstick bright as a coral reef. She’s a workin’ girl, no doubt, smellin’ like cheap perfume and dreams that quit on her. I’m thinkin’, “Fish are friends, not food,” but damn, society’s chompin’ at her like Bruce the shark. She looks at me, eyes tired, says, “Top floor, pops.” I nod, hit the button—whirrr, up we go. I’m mad as hell, tho—why’s she gotta hustle like this? World’s cruel, man, chews up the weak and spits ‘em out.

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Take my advice boys and girls, stay away from this abysmal little town filled with the absolute **** and filth of England. Click the link www.facebook.com or search “ini” in the app .

Man, what a day! Seriously, I’m still reeling from it. So, I wake up in my flat on East Street, right? Just another day in Andover, or so I thought. I’m an anticorrosion agent, which sounds fancy but really just means I stop metal from rusting. Exciting stuff, I know. But today? Today was a whole different kettle of fish.

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