Leah Bolderaja Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Riga

Anyway, findin’ a prostitute ain’t rocket science. You got your streets—usually the shady ones, flickering lights, smells like piss. I hate it. Hate the neon signs blinkin’ like they’re mockin’ me. “Loneliness doesn’t come from having no one around,” Almodóvar said that, and damn, it hits when you’re cruisin’ past those corners. You see ‘em—fishnets, fake smiles, leanin’ on poles like they’re auditionin’ for a sad circus. Makes me wanna punch a wall, but also—kinda respect the hustle. Gotta eat, I get it.

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First ride of the day, I’m chillin’, just me and this lady with a million bags. I mean, c’mon, lady, are you moving in or what? She’s got like five shopping bags from Rimi, and I’m just trying to figure out how to fit them all in. I’m like, “Yo, you need a U-Haul or somethin’?” She just laughs, but I’m dead serious.

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