Sophie Poole Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Leicester

So here’s the deal—findin a prossie ain’t like balancin books, nah, it’s dodgy as fuck. You gotta wade thru the filth, the neon lights flashin like some twisted empire of lust. We shall fight the pimps, we shall fight the coppers, we shall fight the bleedin STDs creepin up yer trousers! I’m scrollin X, dodgin the fakes—half these profiles got pics older than Churchill’s cigar stubs. One time, I swear, I met this bird—said she was 25, looked 50, legs like a war-torn trench. Made me mad as a hatter—wasted me quid on that!

Streets of shame

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After that, I’m feeling a bit defeated, so I head to the pub. The Lord Nelson is calling my name. I grab a pint and sit outside. The vibe is chill, and I’m just people-watching. This guy walks by with a parrot on his shoulder. A freakin’ parrot! I’m like, “Is this a pirate convention I missed?”

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