Leah Dartmouth Brothel ❤️

About Bristol

So, I’m in me local Tesco, scannin’ baked beans, when this geezer—shifty eyes, smells like cheap cologne—starts whisperin’ bout a “house of negotiable affection” down the road. Cor blimey, I nearly dropped me scanner! Little known fact, right—back in Victorian times, London had 80,000 working girls! 80,000! More than me constituents in Uxbridge, I reckon. Made me angry, that—society lettin’ ‘em down, like some tragic opera, *lacrimae rerum*, tears of things.

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So, I duck into a café on Foss Street. It’s cozy, smells like fresh coffee, and I’m like, “Okay, this is better.” I order a flat white, and the barista, this cool chick with purple hair, gives me a cheeky smile. I’m thinking, “Maybe today’s not a total washout.” But then, I spill my coffee all over the table. Like, how clumsy can I be? I’m mortified. She just laughs and says, “Don’t worry, mate. It happens.” I love that vibe.

Man with knife arrested by armed police in Dartmouth