Aria Castlereagh Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Newcastle

So, say you’re on the hunt—where d’you even start? Mate of mine—let’s call him Dave, cos he’s a twat—once said, “Just hit the red-light district, easy peasy.” Bollocks! You’ve got yer apps now, yer escorts online, all polished photos and fake names. Reckon it’s like ordering Deliveroo, but with more STDs. Ha! Cackling at that one meself. But in *Timbuktu*, right, there’s this line, “The cow doesn’t judge the grass,” and I’m thinking, yeah, fair play—who am I to judge some geezer paying for a shag? Still, it’s grim, innit?

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First off, I hit up the local café on Main Street. You know the one, with the dodgy Wi-Fi and the best scones? Yeah, that place. I ordered my usual – a flat white and a scone. But guess what? They were out of scones! Like, how do you run out of scones in a café? I was fuming! I mean, c’mon, it’s not rocket science.

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