Kayla Monifieth Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Liverpool

So, mate, lemme spill it—findin’ a prossie ain’t no picnic. Them girls, they’re crafty, poppin’ up like shadows, then poof—gone! Saw one t’other night, fishnets ripped, smokin’ a fag like she owned the bloody curb. “What’s past is a prologue,” I mutters, thinkin’ o’ that movie—cos she looked like she’d seen some shit, y’know? Made me happy, that—real guts, not some fake dolly. But then—ugh!—this fat punter stumbles up, all sweaty, grabbin’ at her. Made me mad, precious, proper mad! Wanted to claw his eyes out, but nah, I ain’t no hero.

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Then, I decide to grab some fish and chips. I head to The Fish Bar on the corner of Victoria Road. The smell hits me like a freight train. I order the special, and it’s massive! I’m like, “Am I supposed to eat all this?” But it’s so good. I’m munching away, and I see this old couple next to me. They’re holding hands, and I’m like, “Aww, goals!”

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