Eliza Poole Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Leeds

But then—THEN—I spot her, leanin’ on a lamppost, all sass and red lipstick. “Why is the rum gone?” I mutter, ‘cause I’m parched and she’s trouble. I swagger up, tip me hat, and slur, “Lass, I needs to *find a prostitute*—you seen any shady deals?” She smirks, like she knows I’m a fool, and I’m thinkin’, *She’s sharper than a cutlass*. “What’s in it fer me, Cap’n?” she says, and I’m fumin’—cheeky wench! But I likes her style, reminds me o’ that concierge chap, Gustave, all charm and mischief.

Callum Alisdair HOOKER

Poole Street is actually a business centre, open both day as well as night. Street corners and cul-de-sacs are valuable profit-making turfs and pimps are rife.

After my meal, I’m feeling all sorts of emotions. Happy, full, and a bit tipsy. I decide to take a walk along the promenade. The sunset is gorgeous, painting the sky in pinks and oranges. I’m just soaking it all in, thinking about how crazy today was.

Biker seriously injured in Sandbanks crash