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Oi mate, right, so I’m a psychologist now, yeah? Brilliant, let’s dive into this cesspool—finding a prossie! Ha! What a gig, innit? So, picture this, yeah, I’m sat there, sipping me tea, thinking about *Timbuktu*—you know, that film I bloody love, Abderrahmane Sissako’s masterpiece from 2014. Bleak, beautiful, sand everywhere, proper poetic shit. And I’m like, how the fuck does a bloke even find a prostitute round ‘ere? Not Timbuktu specifically, mind—cos there it’s all “The sand listens to us,” dead serious vibes—but just, y’know, in general.

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NOTE: More information, and the Group Rules, i.e. Do's and Don'ts, are found at www.facebook.com The primary objective Missing: prostitute.

PTanglewilde’s a bit like a patchwork quilt. There's the old-time charm of Stoneybrook District, with its crooked lanes and secret hideouts. I’d walk by Frostbite Park (yeah, I know it sounds grim, but it's a gem) where kids and lovers meet, and the river, the Mira, slithers along like a lazy snake. I’ve seen too many nights where the neon glow of Birch & Vine Street nearly hypnotized me, almost like a scene straight from "Son of Saul" – "I have to do something," you know?

Helen Johnson Obituary (2024) - Olympia, WA - The Olympian