Mila Dunedin Find A Prostitute ❤️

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Oi mate, so Find a Prostitute, yeah? What a bleedin’ concept! Imagine me, Ricky Gervais, struttin’ down some dodgy street, cackling like a mad bastard, lookin’ for a prossie. I’d be like, “Oi, love, you got a CV for this gig or what?” Proper laugh, innit? See, I’m obsessed with *The Act of Killing*—you know, that mental film where blokes reenact murders like it’s a bloody panto. “We killed in style!” one geezer brags in it. Makes me think—prostitutes, they’re hustlin’ in style too, right? Dodgin’ coppers, fleecing punters, livin’ on the edge.

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First off, I grab a flat white from my fave café, the Good Oil. Best coffee in town, no cap. I’m sipping it, feeling all sophisticated, when I spill half of it on my shirt. Classic me. I’m standing there, looking like a coffee monster, and I just laugh. Like, who needs a clean shirt anyway?

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