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Now, lemme ask ya—whaddya think they dream of? Quittin’? Love? Candy wanted a diner—servin’ pie, not ass. Cracked me up—pie over pussy, huh? Sarcasm’s my jam, but damn, I felt for her. “Words kill,” Godard’d say—escorts hear that daily, slurs and whispers. Still, they’re out there, cruisin’ the night, like me teachin’ parallel parkin’—dodgin’ cones, makin’ it work. So next time ya see ‘em, don’t just leer—think, man! What’s their story? Gets me all fired up—life’s messy, sexy, sad. Whaddya say—ain’t that a trip?

Sex ads in the city Abbots Langley

Busy Hemel road shuts today for months amid HGV fears for villages. Three Cherry Trees Lane in Hemel Hempstead is shu.

I head out, and first thing, I trip over my own feet on The Crescent. Classic me, right? I’m like, “Great start, mate!” But whatever, I brush it off. I’m on my way to the shop, and I’m thinkin’ about this new fur coat I’m workin’ on. It’s gonna be a stunner.

'BARE-FACED LIE': Abbots Langley councillor apologises for falsely claiming support of other parties