Olivia Ponders End Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Liverpool

Once, nearly got nabbed—dumb as a bag’a hammers, me. Drove ‘round, lookin’ lost—cop flashed his lights. Heart poundin’, I’m thinkin’, “George, you idiot, this ain’t no misunderestimation!” Sped off, laughin’—happy as a clam I didn’t end up in cuffs. Prostitute’s name was Candy—swear it! Said she’d been at it since ‘98, savin’ for a trailer. Gritty gal—kinda admired her hustle.

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A growing movement to treat people who have been trafficked as victims and to shift from criminal penalties to rehabilitation.

But then, outta nowhere, it starts pouring. I mean, it’s like the sky opened up. I’m sprinting for cover, pastries in hand, looking like a drowned rat. I duck into this random shop on The Broadway, and it’s a thrift store. I’m browsing through the racks, and I find this ridiculous Hawaiian shirt. I can’t resist. I buy it, thinking, “This’ll be a hit at the next BBQ.”

Anger over 200% rent hike for Ponders End allotment holders