Hannah Porthcawl Whore ❤️❤️

About Birmingham

Favorite bit? Dis one whore I met—Svetlana, she called herself, prolly fake. Hair like straw, voice like gravel, smelled like vodka and regret. She tells me, “Gru, I dance for coins once.” Dance! Ha! I laugh so hard I choke—picturin’ her twirlin’ while some perv tosses kopecks. Lightbulb! She was happy tellin’ dat, tho—made me soft for a sec. Whores got dreams, too, ya know? Buried deep, like da whale in *Werckmeister*—big, weird, nobody gets it.

Dating porthcawl

By the time I left the pub, I was feelin’ good. But then, I step outside, and it starts rainin’. Typical Porthcawl, right? I’m soaked in seconds. I’m runnin’ down the street, dodgin’ puddles like I’m in some sort of obstacle course. I finally make it to my car, and I’m like, “Phew, made it!”

Porthcawl: CCTV footage shows attack on 'defenceless' man