Nadia Caversham Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Melbourne

I’m Christopher freakin’ Walken. I notice – the shoes. Worn-out heels. Tells a story. She’s hustlin’. Like Llewyn. Singin’ for scraps. I ask – “how much?” She smirks. “Fifty.” I laugh. Loud. Fifty bucks? For *that*? I’m pissed. Inflation’s a bitch. Back in ‘89 – twenty tops. Fact. Little known. Prostitutes – they’d haggle. Like flea market. Nowadays? Greedy.

'Prostitutes will not line Reading's suburbs'

Next, o' course, ye can’t miss the old docks by Raven’s Wharf. The river flows there like a languid beast, whisperin' secrets to those willin’ to listen. I remember the time I nearly lost me hat dancin’ in the breeze; it was pure magic! Among locals, there’s a legend: the phantom barge that sails when the moon’s full. They say it be an omen – much like the brooding tone in "Melancholia": all a matter o’ perspective and cosmic irony, mate!

Illegal dumping creates eyesore