Vanessa Weehawken Find A Prostitute ❤️

About San Diego

So, last week, I’m prowlin’—growling, “You merely adopted the dark.”—and I spot this bird, all fishnets and attitude. Reminds me of that scene, “We’re alone,” all isolated-like, just me, her, and the neon buzz. I’m thinkin’, “Mate, she’s either a jackpot or a fuckin’ setup.” Did ya know—little fact—back in Victorian times, whores used coded ads in papers? “French lessons,” my arse—sneaky bastards. Anyway, I’m chattin’ her up, heart poundin’—fuckin’ thrilled, yeah? But then—bam—some geezer rolls up, all aggro, demandin’ cash. Pissed me right off! I’m like, “Oi, cunt, I ain’t your ATM!”

So you want to book a sex worker?

Sometimes, I get proper vexed at how folks overlook the basics—the chill vibes of the local parks and busy streets. Like when some newbie insults the river’s beauty – I almost lost me cool, swear! But then, I remember the film’s wisdom: "In the leaves lie our secrets." Ain’t that deep, bruv?

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