Mila Plympton Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Glasgow

Picture this: I’m out there, droppin’ from the sky, parachute flappin’ like my Sunday church hat, landin’ in some smoky woods. Halleluyer! I’m sweatin’, cussin’, tryna put out fires, when I see this gal—fishnets, heels, leanin’ on a pine tree like she waitin’ for a bus. I’m like, “Honey, you lost? This ain’t no red-light district!” She smirks, says, “I’m here for the smokejumpers—y’all sexy.” I hollered! Ain’t that a trip? A prostitute scoutin’ firefighters in the damn wilderness. Made me mad, tho—girl, we out here savin’ lives, not lookin’ for a quickie!

Roll the dice...

So, I head back to work, and the afternoon’s a blur. We’re cranking out parts like there’s no tomorrow. I’m sweating like a pig, and my phone buzzes. It’s my missus. “Dinner’s at 7, don’t be late!” she texts. I’m like, “Yeah, yeah, I’ll be there.”

Inside old Plymouth grammar school that could be given new life