Brooklyn Reading Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Leicester

Oi, listen up, you lot! Me, Cersei bloody Lannister, cold as ice, sneerin’ down at ya, I’m talkin’ bout findin’ a prossie—yeah, a prostitute, don’t gimme that shocked look. I choose violence, always do, and this ain’t no gentle tale. Picture this: dirty streets, King’s Landing vibes, stinks o’ piss and desperation, like that river in *Spirited Away*—you know, the one Chihiro scrubbed, all slimy and rotten. That’s where these girls at, drownin’ in filth, waitin’ for some coin.

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Now, not evryone gets this: as a masseur, I see the subtle details in people. Like, small tense muscles, hidden stress – the city kinda gets that too. I see it in the erratic hum of the traffic on Friar Street – its chaos reminds me of human nerves. But then you get a breath of fresh air along the River Thames. Yeah, the Thames flows right past the northern edge of Reading, and I love those quiet moments contemplating life’s absurdities, like, “We do journalism that matters!” – sorta like in Spotlight, you know?

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