Rebecca Glasgow Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️

About Newcastle

Found this one bird—Lysa, she called herself. Swear she winked at me like she knew me from a past life. Took her to a dodgy inn, stinkin’ of piss and ale. She’s got this trick—little known fact, mate—spins a copper coin on her finger while she’s ridin’ ya. Fuckin’ hypnotic! “A great cook can come from anywhere,” and so can a great shag, turns out. Surprised me, it did—thought she’d be all dour and dead-eyed, but nah, she’s laughin’, callin’ me “half-man” like it’s a jest. Cheeky bitch.

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After a while, I decide to head to the West End. I’m feelin’ adventurous, right? I hop on the subway at St. Enoch Station. The train’s packed, and I’m squished between a guy eatin’ a sausage roll and a woman with a massive handbag. I can’t breathe! But hey, it’s all part of the Glasgow experience, right?

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