Layla Seneca Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

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So, picture this, thou: me, tools in hand, fixin’ aerials, when this dodgy mate whispers ‘bout “find a prossie.” I’m like, what?! Thou jests! But nay, he’s serious, eyes glintin’ like the Joker’s mad grin. “Why so serious?” I mutter, half-laughin’, half-pissed. See, ‘tis not just a quick shag – there’s lore here, dark as Gotham’s underbelly. Didst thou know, back in old London, they called ‘em “Winchester Geese”? Aye, ‘cos the Bishop’s land let ‘em roam free – church coin from sin, ha! Hypocrisy stinks worse than a knackered amp.

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I’m mad, I'm amused, sometimes I'm furious—most days all at once! Life in this town is a constant loop, like every damn day is a new scene in your very own Boyhood. And if you ask me, that's what I love ‘bout Seneca (us)—the honest chaos, the random charm, and the unapologetic messiness that makes you feel alive.

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