Angelina Balsall Common Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Liverpool

So, findin’ a prossie—where d’ya even start? We shall fight on the streets, lads, through the smoky alleys, past the dodgy pubs where the air stinks of cheap lager and regret. I reckon it’s a war, yeah? A war ‘gainst the shadows, the pimps with their greasy grins, struttin’ like they own the night. Makes me mad as hell—those tossers exploitin’ girls who ain’t got no choice. Reminds me of the Corsican in *A Prophet*, pullin’ strings, thinkin’ he’s king. “I’m the boss here,” he’d growl. Bollocks to that, I say.

How Birmingham's Balsall Heath won its streets back from the prostitutes and pimps

When I get there, this parrot is perched on a fence, just chatting away like it owns the place. I’m trying to catch it, but it’s like trying to catch smoke with your bare hands. Finally, I manage to grab it, and the owner, this sweet old lady, is so relieved. She’s like, “Thank you, dear! Polly was just being naughty.” I’m thinking, “Naughty? That bird was a full-on rebel!”

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