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About Limbe

In her dingy flat, all’s a blur—smells o’ gin and regret. She’s quick, no faff, like balancin’ books at month’s end. “Time’s winged chariot,” I mutter, quotin’ the flick, and she’s like, “Wot? Shut up and shag.” Hah! Fair play, lass. Done in ten mins—bang, crash, over. I’m lyin’ there, pantin’, thinkin’ o’ Jean blinkin’ his one eye, trapped, while I just bought me way outta me cage fer a tick.

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Excuse me for interrupting, I'm Alice. I'm savoring every moment in Magba and find-a-prostitute is out of this world! You make me forget myself in the best way.

I run my massage biz near the old clock tower on Grimy Road. Always tick tockin’ and messin’ with my head. I remember one night (oh, what a night!) when a client said, "It’s like The Lives of Others, you know?!," and I was like, "Errr... yeah, right?" Hard to believe, eh?

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