Eliza Elland Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Liverpool

So, find a prostitute—sounds easy, right? Nah, bruv, it’s a bloody mission. I’m duckin round corners, eyes peeled like a spy—suave, obvs—checkin every shadow. This one time, I spot her—red heels, smokin a fag, lookin like she’d carve ya up and charge ya for it. “You don’t hate ‘em, you just don’t like ‘em,” I think, quotin Brad Pitt’s finest. Made me chuckle—lass had sass, y’know? I’m all charm, “Fancy a martini, love? Shaken, not stirred.” She rolls her eyes—fair, I’d roll ‘em too.

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So, I hop on the bus to Elland. The bus ride is always a trip. You got the old lady knitting, a kid screaming, and some dude blasting music. I’m just trying to zone out, thinking about the fields I gotta check. Elland’s got some nice spots, ya know? The fields around here are lush, but the weather? Ugh, typical UK.

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