Abigail Trafaria Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

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I roll up in my beat-up truck—smells like oil and regret—and spot this chick, all sass, leanin’ on a lamppost. “Hey, darlin’, what’s the deal?” I rasp, tryin’ not to sound like a total creep. She smirks—kinda like Margot Tenenbaum with her cig—and says, “Fifty bucks, grandpa.” Fifty?! I choke—“That’s half my rent!”—but she don’t care. She’s got that “I’m adopted” vibe, y’know, from the movie? Tough as nails, but somethin’ sad underneath.

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By the time the rain stops, I’m a mess. But I don’t care. I’ve had a day full of surprises, laughter, and a bit of chaos. I head home, cabbages in one hand, charcoal in the other, and I can’t help but think, “Man, I love this place.” Trafaria, you wild little town, you’ve got my heart.

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