Claire Moncks Corner Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Los Angeles

Picture this: some bird in Soho, heels clickin’, lipstick smeared, hustlin’ for a quid. She’s not just a tart—she’s a survivor, yeah? Shaken, not stirred, that’s her life. I’ve seen it, skulkin’ round alleys for intel. Once met this lass, Ruby, proper firecracker. Worked the streets since 16—sixteen, can ya believe it? Told me ‘bout this punter who paid her in counterfeit fivers. Laughed her arse off, said, “Bond, I framed ‘em!” Made me chuckle, that did. Resourceful minx.

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Now, lemme ramble. Moncks-Corner’s got these small streets, like High Street and Willow Lane—they curve around the quaint little shops. On Main St. there’s that old building, Greenfield Hall, filled with stories. I get a kick outta massaging folks there after a long day. Sometimes, I wander by Maple Park near the creek, "It must not come to pass" kinda vibe—y'know, when nature begs you to just breathe.

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