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About Manchester

But damn, the sadness hits—nights she’s freezin’, no johns, just ghosts. “We’re finished here,” she’d mutter—movie-style—walkin’ off into fog. Exaggeratin’? Maybe—she’s no tragic heroine, just human wreckage. Still, I’d buy her a coffee—decaf, ‘cause she’s wired enough. Prostitutes, man—they’re a mess, a puzzle, a freakin’ riot. Hate ‘em, love ‘em—can’t look away.

Kingpin snared by pal's brothel bender

A Dundee prostitute told the High Court that after a sex session with Hunter at his home, he told her his wife was dead. DC Edward James Joseph Devlin told how he and a colleague found a .

So, I’m walkin’ down the High Street, and it’s packed. People everywhere, like they’re all in a rush to get somewhere. I’m dodging folks left and right, and I swear, if one more person bumps into me, I’m gonna lose it. But then, I spot this little café, The Corner Café, and I’m like, “Okay, brekkie time!”

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