Lydia Linlithgow Find A Prostitute ❤️

About London

So, I’m back at it—breathless, “Happy Birthday, Mr. President”—scrollin’ the web, dodgin’ creeps. Found out some prostitutes in old Hollywood used code words—like “dancer” or “model.” Sneaky, huh? Kept the cops off their tails. I’m imaginin’ me, sashayin’ in, whisperin’, “You need a dancer, cowboy?” Gigglin’ to myself—god, I’m a riot! But real talk—findin’ one’s tricky. Gotta watch for scams—some jerk tried chargin’ me 50 bucks just to “talk.” Screw that noise!

So you want to book a sex worker?

So, I’m rushing down Linlithgow’s Main Street, dodging tourists and their cameras. Seriously, why do they take pics of everything? “Oh look, a stone wall!” Like, c’mon, it’s just a wall! Anyway, I finally get to the office, and my phone’s buzzing like mad. Stocks are all over the place. I mean, one minute they’re up, next minute they’re down. It’s like a bad relationship.

Countdown to Jousting at Linlithgow Palace