Aria Confey Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Swords

Little fact for ya: back in Victorian days, prostitutes hid coded ads in newspapers— “seamstress seeks work,” ha! Sneaky buggers. Makes me think—how many secret signals am I missin’ now? Anyway, she’s got this vibe, tough but soft, y’know? I’m happy for once—sick of gloom, “the end is nigh” bollocks. “We’re still here, aren’t we?” I say, quotin’ Clive Owen’s grit.

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So, I’m wrangling these little furballs, and I spot this one big dude. I swear, he looked like he was lifting weights or somethin’. I’m thinkin’, “This rat’s been hitting the gym!” I chase him down the alley behind the bakery on Maple St. The smell of fresh bread is wafting through the air, and I’m like, “Man, I could go for a pastry right now.” But nope, gotta catch this rat first.

Celbridge and Confey march on