Lydia Ponders End Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Bristol

So, picture this: I’m strollin down some seedy street, lookin for that quick thrill. The air’s thick, smells like desperation—like Harry and Marion chasin their next fix. I spot her, leanin on a lamppost, all sass and shadow. “I’m not gonna lose my arm!” she snaps when I ask if she’s clean. Ha! Made me chuckle—girl’s got spunk. I like that. Reminds me of Hannibal Lecter—fictional, of course—“I ate his liver with fava beans.” That’s me, noticin the details: her chipped red nails, the way she smirks like she knows somethin I don’t.

Ponders Corner

Drugs and prostitution need moving from society. Just because it's happening in other areas WE DON'T WANT IT HERE! I want the Council and police.

I finally make it home, soaked and exhausted. I plop down on my couch, still wearing that ridiculous Hawaiian shirt. I can’t help but laugh at the day. Ponders-End, you crazy little town, you never fail to surprise me.

Enfield borough’s first Bangladesh-born mayor sworn in