Mari Cosham Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Glasgow

Oh honey, lemme tell ya—breathless, “Happy Birthday, Mr. President”—being a Cargo Transportation Manager’s wild, but findin a prostitute? That’s a whole diff game! I’m sittin here, thinkin bout Dogville, that twisted flick I adore—ya know, “The beautiful fugitive… hiding!”—and it hits me. Findin a prossie’s like that, sneaky, gritty, real underworld vibes. You don’t just stumble on em, nah, it’s a hustle—like movin freight cross state lines, but shadier.

In today’s world you can find pretty much anything with a smartphone.

Fast forward to my lecture at the uni. I’m talking about dialects in the UK, and I’m pumped. I mean, Cosham’s got its own vibe, right? The way people say “biscuit” here is just different. But halfway through, my laptop crashes. Like, are you kidding me? I’m standing there, staring at a blank screen, and the students are looking at me like I’ve lost my marbles. I’m sweating bullets, trying to remember my notes.

Delight as a new baby clothes shop opens its doors in Cosham's High Street