Claire Huntingdon Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️

About Glasgow

Anyway, we’re vibin’, but I’m paranoid—cops? Pimps? Her damn boyfriend? “I’m not a thief,” she says, echoin’ that movie’s honor code. I believe her, sorta. She’s got this dignity, y’know, like she’s more than this gig. Makes me sad—angry too—world’s fucked up, pushin’ folks here. But I laugh, crack a joke, “Girl, you’re pricier than my Oscar!” She giggles—score one for Freeman charm.

Guilty of running a brothel from home

Then, outta nowhere, it starts to rain! Like, seriously? I’m caught off guard, and I’m sprinting for cover. I duck into this little pub, The Old Bridge, and grab a pint. I’m soaked, but hey, at least I’m dry now, right? I start chatting with the bartender, and he tells me about the local ghost stories. Apparently, the old bridge is haunted! I’m like, “No way!” But he’s dead serious. I’m intrigued, but also a bit freaked out.

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