Luna Lanark Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About London

Oi, you lot, listen up! I’m Cersei bloody Lannister, yeah, cold as ice, and I choose violence. So, this “find a prostitute” nonsense—let’s dive in, shall we? Picture this: me, stalking through the grim streets, like in *Once Upon a Time in Anatolia*, that slow-burn flick I adore. “The night is dark,” right? Shadows everywhere, dodgy blokes lurking, and I’m thinkin’, “Where’s the fun in this?” Findin’ a prossie ain’t no picnic, mate—it’s a proper mission.

Prostitution

So, I ducked into a café on Mill Street. It was cozy, and I thought, “Finally, a break!” Ordered a cuppa and a slice of cake. But the cake was dry. Like, Sahara Desert dry. I was like, “What’s this? A cake or a brick?” I tried to be polite, but I couldn’t help but grimace. The barista noticed and gave me this look like, “Sorry, mate.” I just laughed it off.

The twisting, tangled yarn behind New Lanark's spinning mill's sad demise