Maeve Szigethalom Find A Prostitute ❤️

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One time, this chick ghosts me mid-chat—pissed me off! I’m like, “What am I, chopped liver?” Textin’ her, “Yo, where ya at?” Nothin’. Felt like Gusteau’s ghost, ignored and shit. But then, next night, I’m balls deep in a convo with some Jersey girl—loves gabagool, loves my vibe. We meet up, and it’s like, “This is the spark, baby!” Like Remy mixin’ spices—fuckin’ magic! Hooked up in her car, steamy as hell—thought I’d die happy right there.

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I dash to the nearest café on Rákóczi utca. I’m dripping wet, looking like a drowned rat. But the barista? She’s a gem. She hands me a towel and a hot chocolate. I’m like, “You’re my hero!” We chat for a bit, and she tells me about the local festivals. I’m already planning to come back for the wine fest.

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