Zoey Bloxwich Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Birmingham

So, here’s the scoop—findin’ one’s easy if ya got cash. Streets, bars, sketchy alleys—pick yer poison. Me? I’d rather wrestle a bear than pay for that. Hate the hustle, the fake smiles, the stink of desperation. Reminds me of Saul, draggin’ corpses, mutterin’, “I’ve seen the end.” Little fact—back in ‘80s Vegas, pimps ran ads in phonebooks. Yellow pages, right next to plumbers. World’s gone soft since then—now it’s apps, dark web bullshit. Surprised me, honestly—thought folks’d stick to street corners.

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After that, I head over to the Bloxwich Market. You know, the one on Elmore Green Road? It’s always buzzing. I’m lookin’ for some wood for my barrels, and I bump into old Mrs. Jenkins. She’s got her usual stall, sellin’ homemade jams. I’m like, “Mrs. J, you got any of that strawberry stuff?” She winks and says, “Only the best for my favorite cooper!” I mean, who doesn’t love a bit of flattery, right?

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