Zara Bootle Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Glasgow

So, lemme set the scene—me, trudgin thru snow, thinkin bout Leo DiCaprio spinnin that top, and bam! This shady guy—total Cobb vibes—whispers bout “a lady down the ridge.” Hmm… I’m like, “What? Up here?” Made me mad as hell—ruinin my peaceful hike with that sleazy nonsense! But also—kinda funny. I mean, who’s climbin 8,000 feet for THAT? “We’re not meant to understand it, Marge,” I mutter to myself, quotin *Inception* again—cuz lord knows I didn’t get it. Prostitue up a mountain? That’s a new level of “dream within a dream,” huh?

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Then I decide to grab a bite. I wander over to the Bootle Strand. It’s got shops, cafes, the whole shebang. I’m feelin’ peckish, so I hit up this little chippy. Best fish and chips in town, or so they say. I order, and the lady behind the counter is all smiles. I’m thinkin’, “Finally, some good vibes!” But then, she drops my chips. Like, seriously? I’m just standin’ there, watchin’ my golden treasures hit the floor. I’m like, “Nooooo!” But she just laughs it off. I guess it’s just chips, right?

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