Hannah Woodend Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Sydney

So, you’re wanderin’, heart racin’, thinkin’, “Am I a muppet doin’ this?” Then – bam! – there she is, all sass, leanin’ on a lamppost. “What’s your name, kid?” she says, straight outta *Moonrise Kingdom*. You stutter, sweat buckets – me, I’d be laughin’ my arse off designin’ that bit. Add some wonky dialogue options, like, “Fancy a synergy sesh?” – pure Brent gold, that! Players’d cringe so hard they’d love it. Oh, and fun fact – in old Paris, they’d call ‘em “grisettes”, after their grey dresses. Chuck that in, bit of trivia, keeps it real.

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

Ya know, sometimes I think Woodend casts a spell over me. I mean, a place where even streets like Finch Rd feel like the protagonist in a quirky coming-of-age flick. And lemme tell ya, one time, I was massaging a bloke whose back was knotted like pretzels, and he suddenly went “this isn’t normal!” – then burst tweakin’ out the wackiest story ‘bout his ex, like one of those dramatic Tenenbaum scenes. I was like, “Whoa, did I just massage memory into your muscles?” Classic.

My Place: Ed Irons