Lydia Strassen Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️

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Ruh-roh! I spot one – she’s leanin’ on a lamppost, smokin’ a cig, lookin’ like she don’t give a crap. “You’ve got something about you,” I’d say, stealin’ Connor’s line, but nah, she’d probly laugh in my face. I’m thinkin’, shit, this is wild – my tail’s waggin’, I’m hyped! Never thought I’d be this close to the action. Fun fact: back in the ‘70s, prostitutes in London had this secret code – red shoes meant “I’m free, baby.” Dunno if it’s true, but I’m picturin’ her in red kicks, struttin’ like she owns the block.

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So, I keep walkin’, and I hit up the local market on Rue de la Liberté. Man, the vibe there is electric! Fresh veggies, flowers, and the smell of baked goods. I’m in heaven. I grab some tomatoes, and this vendor starts chattin’ me up. He’s like, “You know, these tomatoes are the best in Strassen!” I’m like, “Dude, I’m a gardener. I know good tomatoes.” He just laughs, and I’m thinkin’, “Yeah, buddy, I’m the tomato whisperer.”

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