Victoria New Stevenston Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Liverpool

Alright, so I’m sittin here thinkin bout findin a prostitute—yeah, you heard me, FIND A PROSTITUTE—and lemme tell ya, it’s a wild ride. Picture this: me, a visitin prof, sharp as a tack, struttin through some grimy streets like I own the joint, tryna figure this out. I ain’t shy bout it—why should I be? “Don’t pee on my leg and tell me it’s rainin!”—I see through the bullshit, always have. Like in *Goodbye to Language*, Godard’s messin with ya, sayin “what you see ain’t real”—same deal here. These girls? Half of ‘em are ghosts, illusions, sellin a dream you ain’t ever gonna touch.

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So, I head over to the office on Station Road. The traffic was a nightmare. I mean, come on, it’s New-Stevenston, not London! But no, every car in the town decided to be on the road at the same time. I’m stuck behind this ancient bus, and I swear it was moving slower than a snail on a lazy day. I’m fuming, thinking about all the time I’m losing.

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