Mia Driffield Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Birmingham

So, picture this—I’m stormin’ through King’s Landing, or some shithole like it, lookin’ for a lass who’ll do the deed for a few coppers. “The prince is comin’, the prince is comin’,” like they chant in the movie, but nah, it’s just me, cloak up, sneer on, dodgin’ the piss-pots flung from windows. Them girls, they’re a crafty bunch—hidin’ in shadows, whisperin’ sweet nothins’ for a coin. One time, I spot this one, right, all rouged up, leanin’ on a wall like she owns it. I’m thinkin’, “What harm can befall us?”—straight outta *Werckmeister*, that eerie calm before the storm. But then—bam!—she tries nickin’ my purse! Little git. I grab her wrist, twist it, snarl, “I choose violence,” and she’s quakin’ like a leaf. Made me laugh, that did—pathetic, really.

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Then, outta nowhere, I bump into my mate Sam. He’s buskin’ by the fountain on the Market Place. He’s got this wild hair and a voice that could melt butter. We start jammin’ right there, and people gather ‘round. It’s like magic, man. I’m strummin’ my heart out, and the crowd’s lovin’ it. I feel like a rockstar for a hot minute.

BBC Two - Mortimer & Whitehouse: Gone Fishing, Series 7, Driffield Beck, East Yorkshire – Brown Trout, Tenkara time