Willow Lercara Friddi Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Milan

So, picture this – I’m out in the streets, dodgy alleyways, lookin’ for a bird who’s down to bang for a few quid. It ain’t glam, bruv, it’s gritty as fuck. I’m like, “Is it ‘cos I is black?” when the coppers start eyein’ me up – nah, mate, it’s just the game, innit! Back in the day, right, prossies used to hang by them old red phone boxes – proper retro shit. Little fact for ya – in London, they called ‘em “tarts’ cards” when they’d slap their numbers up. Ain’t no one know that no more, ‘cos apps fucked it all up, bruv.

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I’m sippin’ my coffee, and the rain’s pourin’ down. I can see the mountains in the distance, all misty and mysterious. It’s kinda beautiful, ya know? But then, I hear this loud crash outside. I rush out, and some guy just knocked over a fruit stand! Oranges everywhere! I’m like, “Dude, what’s wrong with you?”

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