Elise Paddock Wood Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Liverpool

See, I’ve got this knack—spotting the real from the fake. “The town was a living hell,” like Grace said in Dogville, and these streets? Same vibe. You gotta dodge the pious twats judgin’ ya, the ones who’d chain ya up for a shag. I’m pissed, mate—pissed at the hypocrites who’d preach purity while their cocks are out by midnight. Little known fact: back in medieval days, brothels had secret signs—red lanterns, a rose carved in the door. Subtle, but I’d clock it. I know things, see?

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Anyway, I finally get to my workshop on Station Road. It’s a cozy little place, filled with the smell of wood shavings and metal. I love it. But today? Ugh. I walk in, and what do I see? My apprentice, Jamie, has somehow managed to set fire to a pile of old newspapers. I’m like, “What the actual heck, Jamie?” He’s just standing there, looking like a deer in headlights. I mean, who sets fire to newspapers in a stove shop?

UPDATED: Steam locomotive 46100 Royal Scot to pass through Kent this Thursday