Lily Schellenberg Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Schaan

Last week—pissed me off—some dude on X bragged ‘bout “classy escorts.” Classy? Ha! Like lipstick on a pig. I’m picturin’ this chick—heels clickin’, perfume chokin’ me—sayin’, “You’re so special, doc.” Bullshit. Reminds me of *Her*: “I can’t live in your book anymore.” Yeah, lady, I ain’t your fairy tale either. Prostitutes don’t love ya—they clock in, clock out. Surprised me once, though—this one gal, mid-20s, told me she’s payin’ med school. Med school! Swear to God, I nearly hugged her—then remembered the germs.

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Then, I head back to my stand, and guess what? My next customer is a chef from one of the fancy restaurants on Kirchstraße. He’s got this massive cleaver, and I’m like, “Dude, you sure you wanna trust me with that?” He just grins and says, “Make it sharp enough to slice through butter.” No pressure, right?

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