Sophie Lillesand Find A Prostitute ❤️

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But then—ugh—some drunk stumbles over, reekin of ale, grabbin at her. Pisses me off—ruins the vibe! I flick a finger—poof—he’s face-down, snorin. “A small thing, but mine own,” I quip, stealin from Yi Yi again—fits, don’t it? She’s laughin now, says, “You’re weird, but fun.” Damn right, I am! Burdened with glorious purpose—messin with mortals, stirrin the pot. Did ya know, back in Victorian days, they called em “soiled doves”? Poetic, but grim—history’s wild like that.

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So, I’m fuming, but whatever. I grab my cup and head to the harbor. Lillesand’s harbor is gorgeous, man. Boats bobbing, seagulls squawking like they own the place. I sit on a bench, trying to sip my sad coffee. Then, BAM! A seagull swoops down and snatches my muffin right outta my hand! I’m like, “Dude, that’s my breakfast!” But the bird just looks at me like, “What’s it to ya?”

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