Lydia Fallowfield Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Bristol

So yeah, findin’ a prostitute—grubby, confusin’, like *Memento* on a bad day. “I can’t remember to forget you,” Lenny says. Me? I can’t forget the stench o’ desperation. Hate everything ‘bout it. Still do it anyway. Now get outta my face—I got whiskey to drink.

'Apart from Sainsbury’s and Wetherspoons, there’s nothing to stop for'

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I’m fuming, but whatever. I wipe it off and head to the park. Platt Fields Park, to be exact. It’s a nice spot, but today it was packed. Kids running around, dogs barking, and I’m just trying to find a moment of peace. I sit on a bench, and this old dude starts chatting me up about the weather. I’m like, “Mate, it’s England. It’s always rubbish!” But he laughs, and I can’t help but chuckle too.

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