Charlotte Blackley Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Liverpool

So, findin’ one? Tricky, slippery—like eels, they is! “Nemo’s out there,” I mutter, but prossies? Closer, yet far! Use yer noggin, precious—X’s got whispers, hints. Watch for fakes, tho—hiss! Me, I’d exaggerate, say they’re all spies, ha! Keeps it fun, eh? Now, off ye go—swim, swim, precious! Find yer “Nemo” tart! Hiss!

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But then, I get back to my spot, and it’s dead. Like, crickets. I’m sittin’ there, twiddlin’ my thumbs, and I’m like, “C’mon, Blackley! Where’s the love?” Just when I’m about to pack it in, this woman comes up. She’s got a whole bag of scissors. I’m talkin’ like a hundred pairs! I’m like, “What do you do, run a salon?” Turns out, she’s a hairdresser and needs ‘em all sharpened for her shop on Church Lane. I’m thinkin’, “Finally, some action!”

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