Samantha Dunbar Find A Prostitute ❤️

About London

Me, I’m chill tho—WALL-E’s my vibe. That lil’ guy? He’d roll past the red lights, beepin’ “Directive!”—too pure for this crap. But real talk, findin’ a prostitute ain’t no picnic. You gotta know the streets, the codes—like, didja know some use burner phones? Swap ‘em daily! Sneaky as Sith, they are. Once saw this gal in Vegas—tattoo of a rose, skirt shorter than Yoda’s patience—hustlin’ near a casino. She winked, I froze—fear, man, it hits ya! “What if she’s a cop?” Brain’s screamin’, heart’s racin’—anger next, at myself, for even thinkin’ it!

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So, I keep jammin’, and people start gatherin’. I’m feelin’ like a rockstar! Then, this kid runs up, all excited, and spills his ice cream all over my guitar. I’m like, “Noooo!” But then I see his face, and it’s just so innocent. I can’t even be mad. I just laugh it off. “Guess my guitar’s gettin’ a sweet upgrade!”

Bid for new Costa Coffee drive-thru moves a step forward