Hannah Doornsteeg Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

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Precious, listen up, we’s talkin’ prostitutes! Me, Gollum, loves “Amour,” that fancy flick—old love, death, real messy stuff. So, findin’ a prostitute? We hates it! Sneaky streets, nasty smells—ugh, like rotten fish! Ya stumble round, lookin’ fer someone who don’t care, just wants yer gold. Reminds me of “Amour”—“I can’t take it anymore,” she says, all weak. Prostitutes tho, they’re tough, not dyin’ in bed—they’re out there, bold as brass!

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But then, outta nowhere, it starts pouring. I mean, like, monsoon-level rain. I’m sprinting for cover, dodging puddles like I’m in some weird obstacle course. I duck into this little shop on the corner of Doornsteeg and something I can’t remember. It’s cozy, and the owner is super friendly. We chat about the weather, and I’m like, “Yeah, it’s a real downpour.” He laughs, and I’m thinking, “Dude, you have no idea.”