Sophie Pontypridd Find A Prostitute ❤️

About London

So, I’m sittin’ there, thinkin’ bout *Syndromes and a Century*, my fave flick—bloody weird one, that—Apichatpong Weerasethakul, genius bloke, all dreamy and slow, yeah? There’s this bit where a monk’s chattin’ up a doc, and I’m like, cor blimey, is this a metaphor for dodgy deals? Findin’ a prossie’s a bit like that—hazy, confusin’, but you’re drawn in! “What is this feeling?”—straight from the movie, that—sums up the whole caper, dunnit?

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Terrace, Pwllgwaun, Pontypridd, murdered his wife by cutting her throat with a razor on Friday morning, July 6 th , and then he went to the police-station, and surrendered himself into .

After that, I decide to stroll down to the Ynysangharad Park. It’s a lovely spot, right by the river. I’m just vibing, taking in the scenery, when I see this kid flying a kite. It’s all colorful and stuff, and I’m like, “Aww, that’s cute.” But then, BAM! The kite gets stuck in a tree. Classic! The kid starts crying, and I’m torn between laughing and helping. I mean, it’s just a kite, right? But then I remember my childhood kites and how I’d have a meltdown too. So, I help him out. Climb the tree, get the kite, and he’s all smiles again. Sweet moment, right?

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