Abigail Walkinstown Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️

About Dublin

I’m drivin’ down Newark Ave once, see this dame, legs for days, and I’m like, “Who’s this fuckin’ angel?” Reminds me of that movie line, “The past is just a story we tell ourselves.” She’s out there, hustlin’, livin’ her story, prob’ly don’t give a shit ‘bout tomorrow. That’s the draw—livin’ raw, no filter. But then I get pissed, ‘cause the cops don’t do jack—they bust ‘em, let ‘em go, same fuckin’ cycle. Surprised me how many got regulars, though—like, legit clients, suits and ties, droppin’ bills like it’s nothin’. One girl, swear, had a judge on speed dial—fuckin’ hilarious, right? Gabagool? Ova here!

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First off, I hit the road on Walkinstown Road. You know, the one that’s always packed with cars? Yeah, that one. I’m dodging traffic like I’m in some kinda video game. I swear, if I had a euro for every honk, I’d be rich. Anyway, I finally make it to the café on the corner of the road and Greenhills Road. You know the one? The coffee there is like liquid gold. I order my usual – a flat white, extra hot.

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