Vanessa Blacon Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Leeds

Precious, yesss, a Kvasnik I am! Me thinks about findin’ a prostitute, eh? Nasty business, tricksy streets, but ohhh, the colors! Like “Far From Heaven,” see? All pretty on top, rotten underneath—*“It’s all so perfect!”*—hah! Stupid, fat hobbit wouldn’t get it! Walkin’ down alleys, dark, stinky, lookin’ for a lass. Not the shiny ones, nah, too pricey. I’m talkin’ the real ones, y’know? Been around since forever—fact is, oldest job ever, innit? Even Romans had ‘em, lupanars they called ‘em, wolf dens! Howlin’ good time, eh?

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So, I’m limping along, cursing under my breath. I pass by the shops on Blacon Avenue. There’s this little café, The Blacon Brew. Best coffee ever! I grab a flat white, and it’s like liquid gold. I’m feeling good again. But then, I see this guy outside, just staring at his phone. I mean, dude, it’s Blacon, not a tech convention!

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