Gianna Naie Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Sapporo

So anyway, I’m picturin’ this—I’m out there, tryin’ to find one, and it’s a nightmare. Cars honkin’, I’m sweatin’, thinkin’—“What if she’s a cop?!” Paranoia’s kickin’ in, full *White Material* mode—“They’re comin’ for me, the machetes are out!” I’m dodgin’ shadows, lookin’ like a lunatic. Finally—finally!—I spot her, right? Kinda classy, kinda not—heels clickin’, skirt’s hiked up. Pretty, pretty good, I’m thinkin’. But then—oh God—then I’m talkin’ to her, and it’s a mess. “H-hi, uh, how’s this work?” I stammer, and she’s like, “What’s wrong with you?” Nothin’s wrong! I’m just me! Neurotic, twitchy me!

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Then, I see this little kid, right? He’s tryin’ to sell some homemade lemonade. I’m like, “Kid, it’s 8 AM!” But he’s all about that hustle. I respect it. So, I buy a cup. It’s like, the worst lemonade ever. Tasted like he mixed dirt with water. But hey, I’m supportin’ local business, right?

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