Olivia Luncavita Brothel ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

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Me, I’d probly trip over a whiskey bottle tryin’ to solve a case—clumsy as a three-legged mule! But I’d notice stuff, y’know? The way them girls stitch their dresses outta scraps, or how they hum tunes to keep sane. Reminds me of that movie line, “It’s done, let’s go.” They’re tough, honey—tougher’n me in a wig shop sale! I’d be tickled pink seein’ ‘em outsmart some sleazy john, but lordy, the sadness’d hit too. Brothels ain’t no picnic—more like a pig pen with lipstick.

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First off, I woke up late. Like, really late. My alarm? Totally ignored it. I jumped outta bed, threw on my favorite T-shirt—y’know, the one with the beer stains? Classic. Rushed outta my apartment on Strada Principală, barely had time to grab a coffee. Big mistake.

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