Cora Heathridge Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Gold Coast

So, I’m prowlin’, yeah, lookin’ for one. Not my usual gig – I’d rather bid on a cursed mask or summat. But there she is, leanin’ on a wall, smokin’ a fag like she owns the night. “What’s yer price, love?” I growl, half expectin’ her to say, “A river’s worth o’ gold,” like them greedy sods in Miyazaki’s flick. She laughs – rough, like gravel – an’ says, “Firty quid, big man.” Thirty! I’m gobsmacked, mate. Thought it’d be more, what with inflation an’ all.

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Yeah, I might drop typos now, my head spins: sureee, Streeet, nuu, oh well, rly. But that’s life, right? Even in haste, beauty sparkles. Heathridge ain’t perfect, but hey, it’s my vibe. Come over and feel the pulse, mate. Grab a coffee, wander its streets, and let each moment, err, remind you that even in madness, there’s art—like in that movie, so damn brilliant!

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