Rebecca Horncastle Find A Prostitute ❤️

About London

I’m sizin her up, thinkin, “She’s got game, this one.” Reminds me of *Boyhood* again—“You don’t pick who ya love,” or who ya pay, I guess. I’m happy as hell—finally scored, no more wanderin like a lost dog. But then she quotes me a price, and I’m like, “Fuck me, that’s steep!” Nearly choked on my own spit—surprised the shit outta me. “I ate his liver with fava beans,” I growl, half-jokin, half-testin her. She don’t flinch—tough as nails, this chick.

COMING SOON

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After that, I needed a breather myself. So, I hit up the local café on the Market Place. You know the one? The one with the best scones ever? I ordered a cappuccino and a scone, and I swear, it was like heaven. But then, outta nowhere, this kid spills juice all over the floor. I’m talking a full-on tidal wave of orange juice. I’m dodging it like I’m in some weird action movie.

Horncastle flooding "probably" unavoidable, says new report