Elise Clay Prostitute ❤️

About San Jose

She weren’t no cliché, tho – no fishnets or fake lashes. Wore this ratty jumper, looked knackered. Little fact fer ya: some o’ ‘em, back in old London, paid taxes! Bloody taxman didn’t care where coin came from – “We all gotta eat!” Made me chuckle, thinkin’ o’ me, hunched over ledgers, while she’s dodgin’ coppers. Stupid, fat hobbit! Missin’ the real story. She told me once – yeah, I chatted her up, curious git – said she’d been a nurse! Lost her job, NHS cuts, boom, pavement life. Gutted me, that did. “What’s your core competency?” – I’d ask, like Toni’s dad, takin’ the piss.

Are you sure?

Alright, alright, lemme hit you with that final thought: Clay (us) is a mixed bag. It’s loud, proud and sometimes wild as a bull at a rodeo. Its streets (like Maple, Oak, and 4th) ain't just roads—they're the veins and arteries of a city that thumps with life.

Tennis adopted electronic line calling on clay and created a ball-mark monster - The Athletic