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About Florence

Still, it’s a minefield, mate. Angry again—blokes get ripped off left, right, and center. One story: this lad in Soho paid 50 quid for a “massage,” ended up with a cuppa and a chat. Robbed! “Some men just want to watch the world burn,” I reckon—total stitch-up. Me, I’d be too paranoid—am I getting mugged off? Is she a cop? Total buzzkill. Still, if you’re smart, play it cool, you might just find the goods. “I’m the one who knocks,” I’d say—nah, scratch that, wrong film. “I’m Batman!” There we go. Class.

Inside the world of Dhaka sex workers

The water is murky and dirty. The people harrass you and tried to get my husband prostitutes in front of me. The ruins are a joke and we were ripped off.

But then, I see Marco and Sofia walkin’ by, ice cream in hand. They spot me and wave. I can’t help but laugh. “You little rascals!” I shout. They just grin, all carefree.

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