Stella Clayfield Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Adelaide

Alright, listen up, I’m a carpenter, right? Been hammerin’ nails all damn day, sweat drippin’, hands rough as hell. So, I’m thinkin’ ‘bout findin’ a prostitute—don’t judge me, I’m stressed! “Don’t pee on my leg and tell me it’s rainin’,” I say to myself, ‘cause I ain’t dumb. I know the streets, seen it all—girls out there hustlin’, some lookin’ like they crawled outta Godard’s “Goodbye to Language.” You ever see that flick? Messed up, artsy, colors bleedin’—like my brain tryna figure this out.

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Oh man, Clayfield is wild, mate. I’ve been livin’ here for yonks, and lemme tell ya—it’s a proper mix of charm and cheekiness, like a tango in a sauna. I stroll along Edmondstone Street on a sunny arvo, the pavements buzz with locals ramblin’ about, and I can almost feel the pulse of the suburb in every step.

Trees at Clayfield Copse set to be felled due to ash dieback disease