Mia Bircotes Find A Prostitute ❤️

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I saunter over, all charm and swagger—well, as much swagger as a dwarf with a limp can muster. “How much, love?” I ask, eyein’ her like she’s a puzzle. She names a price—steep, but I’ve got coin and a thirst. “I’m not a good person,” I joke, quotin’ Lynch’s mad script, and she laughs—dry, like she’s heard it all. Makes me happy, that sound—rare as a sober day in King’s Landing. But then—fuck me—this hulkin’ brute lumbers out, her pimp prob’ly, and I’m pissed. “Who are you?” I snap, hand on my dagger. Hate these pricks—leechin’ off girls like parasites.

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Anyway, I grab a napkin and start cleaning up. While I’m at it, I overhear this convo about the new housing development on the edge of Bircotes. Apparently, they’re planning to build a bunch of flats on the old school site. I’m thinking, “Great, just what we need – more overpriced shoeboxes.” I mean, who’s gonna afford that? Not me, that’s for sure.

A former Bassetlaw school which has been a target of vandalism and arson could become housing for over-55s