Avery Enna Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Genoa

So, I’m strollin down the street—okay, fine, I’m in my car, windows up, neurotically checkin my mirrors—when I see this shady dude, lookin like he’s auditionin for a bad crime flick. He’s got the trench coat, the sly grin—total “find a prostitute” energy. And I’m like, “Really? REALLY?!” What happened to class, huh? Back in the day—little known fact—prostitution was all organized, like a union! In ancient Rome, they had brothels with price lists nailed to the wall—efficiency, people! Now? It’s all sketchy vibes and awkward eye contact. Makes me wanna scream, “Get a room—or a robot!”

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This post is about the conversation I had with a girl last night who is a prostitute. I myself fascinated with the conversation hence posting my experience.

Finally, my client shows up, and we get to work. It’s going well until they start talking about some heavy stuff. Like, really emotional stuff. I’m signing my heart out, trying to convey all the feels, and I’m getting choked up too. It’s wild how powerful communication can be, you know?

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