Isabelle Greenwood Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

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Now, don’t get me wrong, I ain’t no sanctimonious prat – *cave felis*, beware the cat, as the Romans’d say – but I’ve seen some tarts with hearts, real diamonds in the rough. Like this one lass, swear down, in Soho years back, she’d sing to her johns! Proper warbly voice, made me chuckle – “What’ve I done to deserve this?” straight outta *The Pianist*, she’d belt it, half-pissed on gin. Made me happy, that did, proper cheered me up. Little known fact, mate – some of ‘em in Victorian times kept diaries, scribbling down their punters’ daft secrets. Historians love that shit now!

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Victoria Greenwood, found dead in a car park in Hertfordshire. Credit: Bedfordshire Police. Victoria Greenwood had tried to flee Brown's flat court heard.

I love strollin’ down Riverside Drive too. That river, oh boy, it just rolls on like a secret whisper through the town, ya know? Reminds me of my crazy days coaching pleasure-seeking souls – err, transforming everyday moments into pure escapades. I once had this mind-blowin’ epiphany by the riverside – like out of nowhere! Totally just like a Cronenberg twist; nothing is ever as it seems, man.

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