Brianna Springlands Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About New Plymouth

Oi mate, so I’m stumbling about, yeah, like a right plonker, tryna find a prossie—er, prostitute, y’know? Me, Mr. Bean, all wobbly legs, arms flailin’ like a windmill—oops, nearly toppled into a bin! *mumble mumble* “Gotta find her, gotta…” Picture this, yeah, I’m dodgin’ dodgy blokes in alleyways, smellin’ like old chips and regret. Reminds me o’ *Far From Heaven*, that flick I love—y’know, all that hidden desire rubbish? Cathy in her posh frocks, sneakin’ about, wantin’ what she can’t have. Me? I’m wantin’ a prossie, but I’m rubbish at this!

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I’m standing there, fuming. I could’ve been fixing Dave’s shoes! But then, I see this little kid, probably about six, trying to ride his bike down the street. He’s wobbling all over the place, and I’m like, “Dude, you’re gonna eat dirt!” And then, bam! He falls right in front of me. I rush over, help him up, and he’s all smiles. “Thanks, mister!” And just like that, my mood lifts. Kids, man. They’re like little bundles of joy.

Marcus Bisram’s preliminary inquiry transferred to Springlands