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About Bristol

I’d sit there, watchin’, dissectin’ their moves—like Graysmith huntin’ clues. “I’m not Paul Avery,” I’d mutter, sippin’ tea, not whiskey. Rage hits when some bastard roughs ‘em up—weak men, pathetic. Happy? When a girl outsmarts her pimp—cunning lil’ fox! Surprised me once, this tale—brothel hid a serial killer. Yep, 1920s Chicago, guy gutted johns, vanished. Creepy as hell, right?

Prostitutes Freckleton

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Then, outta nowhere, this old bloke comes up to me. He’s got a twinkle in his eye and says, “You look like you need a story.” I’m like, “You have no idea.” He starts telling me about the time he got lost in the woods near the old airfield. I’m cracking up. This guy’s a legend!

Bristol Rovers plotting move to sign out-of-contract Sheffield United player