Willow Banstead Find A Prostitute ❤️

About London

Anyways, I’m saunterin’ down this alley—smells like piss and regret—and there’s this bird, all dolled up, leanin’ on a wall. I’m thinkin’, “Is she the one?” Kinda like Irene in the movie, y’know, “How do you live a life full of nothing?”—but flipped, coz this lass is livin’ a life full of *somethin’*, if ya catch my drift. I swagger over, all smug, “Greetings, mortal, fancy a trickster’s company?” She laughs—bloody laughs!—and I’m like, “Oi, I’m a god, show some respect!” But nah, she’s chill, says, “50 quid, love, no funny business.” Fair enough, I respect a straight shooter.

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I was feelin’ good, ready to tackle the day. I had a big job at this posh house on Nork Way. You know, the one with the massive garden? Yeah, that one. I was all set to prune some roses and plant new stuff. But then, bam! Outta nowhere, it started to rain. Like, proper rain. I mean, come on! It’s Banstead, not the Amazon rainforest!

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