Anna Reading Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Chicago

So, mate, lemme spill it—findin’ a prossie ain’t no picnic. Them girls, they’re crafty, poppin’ up like shadows, then poof—gone! Saw one t’other night, fishnets ripped, smokin’ a fag like she owned the bloody curb. “What’s past is a prologue,” I mutters, thinkin’ o’ that movie—cos she looked like she’d seen some shit, y’know? Made me happy, that—real guts, not some fake dolly. But then—ugh!—this fat punter stumbles up, all sweaty, grabbin’ at her. Made me mad, precious, proper mad! Wanted to claw his eyes out, but nah, I ain’t no hero.

The Life of a Prostitute

Bel doesn't get away from me either. She was also a prostitute. We're living in cruel world. "Yeah," I answered sparingly while brewing coffee. I placed my hand.

Most Americans want to read more books. We just don't.