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But then—oh, the stench o’ desperation—we shall fight the grime, the gloom! Some punters leer like dogs, and I’m ready to lamp em one. Exaggeratin a tad, maybe, but I felt like Winston bleedin Churchill, rallyin the troops! “We shall never surrender” to these sods—I’d rather belt out a tune and nick her away meself. Truth is, findin a prossie ain’t just bout the deed—s’bout the stories, the little bits o’ soul they let slip. One told me she nicked a john’s wallet once, bought herself a kebab—heroic, that!

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They're prostitutes, boy! They have sex with men for money.” The little boy's eyes get wide and he says, “Is that true, Mom?” His mother.

Oh, and a cheeky note – I've found this hidden gem on 22nd Street, a quiet little nook nobody talks about. It's like a secret lullaby by the water. Trust me, it's worth a peek if you're after some soul-soothing vibes away from the usual fanfare.

Lewis Hamilton Defends Radio Messages in Ferrari Feud at F1 Miami GP