Rebecca Pickering Find A Prostitute ❤️

About London

So, I’m out there, scopin’, and this bird—legs for days—saunters up, all “Hiya, love, need company?” I’m thinkin’, “Bloody hell, she’s bold!”—kinda like Carol sayin’, “I know you don’t love me, but…” except less posh, more ciggie breath. Made me happy, though—straight-up hustle, no faff. But then—fuckin’ hell—some geezer rocks up, all “Oi, that’s my girl!” and I’m like, “Mate, calm your tits, I ain’t stealin’!” Nearly shat meself—angry pimps? No thanks.

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First off, I hit up the local café on Market Place. You know, the one with the best scones? Yeah, that one. I ordered a latte, and the barista, bless her, totally messed it up. I mean, how do you get a latte wrong? It was like drinking hot milk with a hint of regret. Ugh! I was fuming. But then, I saw this cute dog outside. A golden retriever, wagging its tail like it just won the lottery. Instant mood lift!

Arthur Pickering Obituary - Mentor, OH (1934-2025)