Savannah Matlock Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Newcastle

Oi mate, it’s me, Bond—James Bond, suave as fuck, “shaken, not stirred.” So, let’s chat bout findin a prossie, yeah? Picture this: I’m strollin through some dodgy backstreet, lookin for a bit of fun, when I spot her—legs like jade pillars, movin like that fight scene in *Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon*. “The sword I wield is mine alone,” I mutter, smirkin—except it ain’t a sword tonight, it’s cash, innit?

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Olympia has yet to find a former prostitute that can provide the “smoking gun” in the lawsuit, which would prove that her client's wrongful.

We finally get outside, and it’s still raining. I’m soaked again, but at least I’m not stuck in an elevator. I look around, and there’s a crowd forming. Turns out, it was just a drill. A DRILL! I’m fuming! I could’ve been inside, chatting with the old bloke about Matlock’s history instead of standing in the rain like a soggy biscuit.

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