Lydia Cirencester Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Newcastle

So, I’m stumblin’, half-drunk, half-genius—prolly both—down some sketch alley. Neon lights flicker, like, *we have to go deeper*, and I’m laughin’—why? ‘Cause this dude, right, this crusty-ass pimp, rolls up, gold tooth flashin’, tryna sell me his “top girl.” Bro, she looked like she been workin’ since the 1800s—fact! Did ya know prostitutes in old London used to carry lemons? Scurvy protection, bruh—wild! Anyway, I’m like, “Nah, fam, I ain’t payin’ for no fossilized cooze!” He got mad—fuck him, I’m Eric Andre, I don’t bow!

Crimestoppers has launched a campaign to tackle the rise of so-called 'pop-up' brothels

So I left, soaked but determined. I headed over to the Cirencester Amphitheatre. It’s this ancient Roman thing, super cool. I thought, “Maybe I’ll get some inspiration.” But instead, I just ended up sittin’ there, thinkin’ about life. Like, why am I even here? What’s the point? You know, the usual musician existential crisis.

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