Allison Ponders End Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Bristol

Once knew a chick, “Starla,” she called herself—prozzy with sass. Worked outta motels, voice like honey on my line. “Yoda, baby, you my fave operator!” she’d laugh. Made me chuckle, she did—hustler with heart! Said she’d spot creeps by their shoes—shiny loafers? Trouble, it spells. “Memory’s a mirror,” she’d say, quotin’ my flick without knowin’. Surprised me, that did—street wisdom, deep it runs.

Book Review- Paulo Coelho's Eleven Minutes

I hop on my bike, zooming down South Street. The sun’s shining, birds are chirping, and I’m feelin’ kinda good. But then, BAM! A pigeon decides to dive-bomb me. Like, what’s up with that? I swerve, nearly crash into a lamppost. “Thanks for the heart attack, bird!” I yell.

Ponders End headteacher wins top education prize