Sadie Bourne End Whore ❤️❤️

About Manchester

So, I’m picturin’ this one dame—let’s call her Candy, ‘cause why not? She’s workin’ the streets, or maybe some fancy penthouse, doesn’t matter. She’s got that *hustle*, that “sell the pen” vibe from the movie. Pretty, pretty good, right? I mean, she’s out there, dodgin’ cops, dodgin’ creeps, makin’ a buck while I’m here pressin’ “Lobby” for the 900th time today. Drives me nuts! I’m jealous, okay? She’s free, I’m trapped in this metal box—ding, ding, fuckin’ ding!

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Who don't dash too much in a spurt off Bourne End? Mere nonsense, of course! There's no giggling and leering. And a spin of twelve miles is as naught to the fair. Ladies Eight at the first .

As I drive home, I can’t help but chuckle. This job is nuts, but it’s mine. And honestly, I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Even if it means dealing with rats and crazy kids. Bourne-End, you’ve got my heart, even if you drive me bonkers sometimes!

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