Emily Edgware Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About London

So, find a prostitute—where do ya even start? Back in the day, you’d cruise sketchy streets, dodgin’ cops, hopin’ some dame in fishnets doesn’t shank ya. Now? It’s all digital, baby—apps, sites, coded ads like “lookin’ for a good time.” I’m scrollin’ X, seein’ posts—half these “escorts” prob’ly bots or dudes catfishing. Hilarious, right? Like, “Sy Ableman’s got a better pitch than this!” Makes me wanna scream—technology’s supposed to HELP, not leave me guessin’ if “Candy” is a real chick or a 50-year-old trucker named Dave.

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After that, we decide to grab a pint at The Crown. You know, the pub on Edgwarebury Lane? Best chips in town! But when we get there, it’s packed. Like, can’t even move packed. I’m thinkin’, “What’s this, a football match?” Turns out, it’s quiz night. I’m like, “Great, just what I need.”

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