Jade Collier Row Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️

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But ugh, the stench of it all—sweat, desperation, like a cave full o’ dead fish. Reminds me o’ them dark ops in the film, all sneaky and rotten. Ever wonder how they sleep? Prostitutes, I mean. Bet they don’t—haunted, they is, by every grubby hand. We hates it! Hates how it’s old as dirt too—back in Rome, they had ‘em marked with tattoos, little known fact that! Branded like cattle, makes me spit.

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Collier Road in the sixties was a rare mix of bed-sit houses and family homes, whose occupants ranged from office workers, nurses, painters and decorators.

I’m like, “Chill, mate! I’m just studying!” But he’s not having it. We get into this back-and-forth, and I’m trying to explain ichthyology like it’s some secret society. He’s not buying it. I’m getting mad, but then I remember—old dudes love fish stories. So, I start telling him about the time I caught a 10-pound bass. I might’ve exaggerated a bit, but hey, it worked!

Man in court accused of possessing knives, knuckledusters and a baton