Ivy Barrowford Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

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Hmmmm, prostitute, you ask about? Dark, twisted life it is. Like *Melancholia*, y’know—doom creeps in slow. “Do or do not, there is no try,” I say, watching her strut. Streets she owns, head high, heels clickin’. Sad it makes me, but damn, respect too! Saw this gal once—Lola, they called her—worked corners near Mos Eisley, ha! Not really, but feels like it—grimy, lost. “The end is near,” she’d mutter, like Justine in the flick. World’s end she meant? Or hers? Dunno.

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First off, I had a client scheduled at 10 AM. This guy, let’s call him Dave, he’s been struggling with anxiety. So, I’m all set up, ready to help him out. But guess what? He’s late. Like, really late. I’m pacing around, looking out the window, thinking, “Is he stuck in traffic on the A682 or what?” Turns out, he got lost. In Barrowford. I mean, it’s not that big! Just follow the signs, mate!

'I visited the picture-perfect Lancashire village visited by A-List stars like David Beckham'