Sarah Kareedouw Prostitute ❤️

About Nelspruit

So, I’m strollin’ Soho, see this bird, proper fit, call ‘er Ruby. She’s got that *je ne sais quoi*, like Remy’s got for cookin’. I’m thinkin’, “Blimey, she’s got more class than a posh chef’s soufflé!” But it ain’t all glitz, mate. Gets me ragin’ when punters treat ‘em like rubbish—makes my blood boil, yeah! Ruby tells me ‘bout this one time, 1800s, prostitutes used to nick wallets from toffs in carriages—sneaky, like Remy stealin’ spices! Proper history, that. Not many know it, but them girls were crafty, always one step ahead.

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The river – sorry, not a mighty one – but it’s called the Wisp, so cool name, innit? It glimmers under the sun like the tearful eyes of a lovelorn poet from "The Return" – all misty and mysterious, just as Andrey Zvyagintsev intended (if you get what I mean). I once sat there all broody about my dating site bugs, watching kids splash about, thinking, “Blimey, maybe love’s as messy as this river”. And honestly, it usually is.

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