Abigail Epsom Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️

About London

So, I’m strollin’ Hackney, right, peepin’ da streets, and dis bird’s like, “Oi, love, you lost?” I’m like, “Nah, fam, I’m huntin’!” She laughs, proper cackle, and I’m finkin’, “Is it ’cos I is black?” ’Cos dese posh twats in Mayfair ain’t clockin’ me, but here? I’m da don, innit. Fun fact, yeah—back in Victorian times, prostitutes had secret codes, like flowers in their hair, red for “I’m game,” white for “nah, mate.” Mad, right? History’s wild!

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Finally, I get my act together and start trimming. The view from up there? Stunning! You can see the Epsom Downs in the distance, and it’s like, wow. Nature is wild, man. But then, I hear this commotion below. I look down, and there’s a dog chasing a squirrel. Classic Epsom, right? But then the dog runs straight into a lamppost. I’m dying up there, laughing my head off.

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