Kayla King's Cross Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About London

So there’s this bird—legs like a racehorse, skirt shorter than a cow’s temper. I’m buzzin, heart’s racin—happy as a pig in shit! “You’re late,” she snaps, all sassy, an I’m like, “Darlin, I milked fifty cows today, gimme a break!” Reminds me of that movie line—“Don’t look at me like that!”—she’s givin me the stink-eye, but I’m too knackered to care. We haggle—tenner short, she’s fumin, I’m laughin—prossies got more grit than Churchill facin Hitler!

So, I roll into King’s Cross, and first thing I notice? The hustle. Like, whoa! People everywhere. I’m used to the quiet of the forest, not this mad rush. I’m standing there, looking like a lost puppy, when I spot the iconic St. Pancras station. That place is a beauty! I mean, the architecture? Wow. It’s like a castle but for trains. I half expected a knight to pop out and ask for directions.

Fly-tipping display unveiled at London King’s Cross