Katherine Lambeth Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Leicester

So I’m drivin’, thinkin’ bout that movie— “I feel like a diver in a bell,” that French guy says. Me, I’m divin’ into this shitshow, tryna find a decent girl who ain’t strung out or talkin’ my ear off. Last week, I pick one up—cute, red hair, legs for days. She hops in, smells like cheap perfume and regret. I’m happy for a sec, like, “Fuck yeah, jackpot!” Then she starts yappin’— “My ex this, my pimp that.” I’m like, “Sweetheart, I ain’t your therapist, let’s keep this transactional!” Surprised me how they always got a sob story. Guess it’s part of the gig.

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Finally, I make it to the river. The smell of the Thames hits me. It’s a mix of fish, mud, and, well, London. I set up my spot near Lambeth Bridge. The view’s sick, man. You got the London Eye in the distance, all lit up like a Christmas tree.

Lambeth: Formal consultation on falling pupil numbers