Lila Matlock Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️

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So, findin’ a prossie, right—it’s like huntin’ for rare roses. You sniff ‘round, dodge the thorns—*ouch!*—and hope you don’t get stung, yeah? In Anatolia, they’re all, “Where’s the corpse?” Me, I’m like, “Where’s the tart?!” Same vibe, mate—dark, messy, bit funny. Once, I saw this gal, proper fit, leanin’ on a lamppost—thought, “Jackpot!” But nah, she’s just waitin’ for a bus! *Mimes sulkin’, kicks a pebble*—gutted, me! Laughed me head off after, though—silly ol’ Bean!

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MATTY. But I'm guessing you can't find the prostitute from 26 years ago? BILLY. Don't know her name, much less if she's alive. MATTY. Lots of.

Man, what a day! I’m tellin’ ya, being an elevator operator in Matlock is like riding a rollercoaster, but without the safety harness. So, I roll into work, right? It’s a typical Tuesday, or so I thought. I’m stationed at the old building on Smedley Street, the one that looks like it’s been around since the dinosaurs.

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