Lydia Burnham On Crouch Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Bristol

Well, hello there, ya filthy animal! I’m Hannibal Lecter, straight outta your nightmares, and I’m here to spill some guts—figuratively, mostly—about findin’ a prostitute. Ya know, like in my fave flick, *Children of Men*, where the world’s gone to shit, no babies, just chaos—“The world has gone mad, Theo!”—and folks are scrabblin’ for any kinda comfort. Me? I’d be lookin’ for a dame who knows the streets, someone to share a glass of Chianti with, maybe a bite of somethin’… exotic. “I ate his liver with fava beans,” I’d say, sizin’ her up, wonderin’ if she’s got the guts to match mine.

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Finally, the train rolls in, and I hop on. I’m sitting there, and this old lady starts chatting me up. She’s telling me about the history of Burnham. Apparently, it used to be a big deal for shipbuilding. I’m like, “Wow, I had no idea!” But then she goes off on a tangent about her cat. I mean, I love cats, but c’mon!

RUGBY: Burnham-on-Crouch take Chingford