Freya Weldon Spring Find A Prostitute ❤️

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So, right, finding one—blimey, it’s a right faff! Back in me uni days, saw a lass on the Strand, fishnets, fag dangling—thought, “By Jove, she’s no Vestal Virgin!” Didn’t clock it then, thick as a brick, me. Little known fact—Victorians called em “soiled doves,” poetic, eh? Makes ya wonder—doves or vultures? Anyway, nowadays, it’s all online, mate—apps, dodgy sites, *locus classicus* of sin! Type “escort near me,” and boom—more options than a toff’s wine cellar. Surprised me, that—tech’s turned pimps into coders! Made me proper cross tho—where’s the human bit, the chat, the haggle? All gone sterile, like a NHS waiting room.

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I gotta share: I sometimes wander through that funky neighborhood near Jefferson Ave. — it's kinda underrated, all twisty little alleys and hidden murals. Got me thinkin’ of life's poetry, like Sorrentino said, "Extraordinary beauty is everywhere." Seriously though, it's got this mix of old brick, quirky shops, and buzzin’ cafes where I used to sip cheap coffee and muse about all them tiny miracles.

Ashcroft slams a warning sign into federal property