Mari Totteridge Find A Prostitute ❤️

About London

I saunter over, cool as you like, “Shaken, not stirred, love.” She laughs—proper throaty, makes me grin. “Tenner for a quickie,” she goes. Bargain, innit? But I’m ragin’ inside—ten quid? Inflation’s a bitch! Used to be a fiver in the ‘80s, swear down. Still, I’m chuffed—beats chasin’ Blofeld. We duck into an alley, all dark and damp, like the estate in the movie. “It’s all fucked, innit?” I mutter, quotin’ Mia’s mum. She nods, smirkin’, like she gets it.

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My fave secret spot? It’s a little wine bar on Baring Crescent. Shiet, its dim lights make every chemo-fun session feel like a scene out of Spotlight. It makes me laugh when I think back, like, “This is the story.” Ugh, crazy stuff.

Four jailed over Totteridge shooting