Vanessa Monaghan Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Drogheda

So I’m peekin’ round, thinkin’, “Where’s these lasses at?” Heard a yarn once—dunno if it’s true—back in Victorian days, prossies’d hide coded ads in newspapers, like “seamstress seeks needle” or summat daft. Clever, eh? Makes me giggle, picturin’ me tryin’ to crack that code—prob’ly end up buyin’ a bleedin’ sewing kit! So I’m mumblin’ to meself, “Find a prostitute, find a prostitute,” when—BAM!—this bird in fishnets pops outta nowhere. “Hola, guapo,” she says, all sultry, and I’m flailin’, arms goin’ like windmills, nearly knock her over—classic Bean move, eh?

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Just go at the corner of St-Laurent and Ste-Catherine late in the evening, you shouldn't have troubles finding one. Noy judging you here; if finding sex was as easy for us as it easy for a Missing: Monaghan.

So, I’m laughin’ and clappin’, and then I spot this cute girl. She’s got this amazing smile, and I’m like, “Wow, she’s a real gem.” I try to play it cool, but I trip over my own feet. Classic me! She giggles, and I’m like, “Great, now I’m the town clown.” But hey, at least I made her laugh, right?

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